Love is a Grift
by V.Venowl
Summary: Abuse of ADAM causes severe mental and physical side-effects. It was one in an impossibly long list of catalysts initiating the ruination of Rapture...and one Dr. J.S. Steinman. However…it wasn't the only mental strain that caused him to go mad.
1. Phase 1

Love is a Grift

I don't own or have anything to do with Bioshock's characters, settings, or creations. No copyright infringement intended. I guess I own my own characters. Whatever. This is actually rated a step lower than it should be, mainly because I would like it to actually be read. This contains some sexual description and coarse language. If you know you shouldn't be reading it or have a problem with this subject matter, don't.

"We all make choices, but in the end…our choices make us."-Andrew Ryan

Phase 1-April, 1958

"McGee, c'mere!"

"…Yeah, boss?"

"You look kinda bored…want somethin' to do?"

"Sure, whatever you say, boss."

"You know a guy by the name of, ah, what is it, I'm drawin' a blank…Barsetti! Barsetti, that's it."

"Yeah, I know the guy. Whatcha need him for?"

"I've gotta special assignment that needs undertaking, and I've gotta feelin' he's our man."

"You sure, boss? I heard he's one o' them…'Temperamentals'."

"You hear a lotta things nowadays. Go out and find him; bring him back here."

"But, I dunno if he's workin' to-day, boss."

"Then go check his apartment, the bar, any place! Just bring him back here."

"Uh, sure. You got it, boss."

McGee first went to the docks, where a majority of the boss's men worked, including Barsetti. After asking around, he learned that Barsetti had the day off. He figured he'd either be sleeping back at his apartment or down tipping back as many as his wallet would allow; the only two things dockworkers did on their very few holidays.

Apollo Square wasn't exactly the most posh place in Rapture, and the Artemis Suites, despite their intriguing name, weren't any better. Despite the appealing name, it was home to the lower and working classes, the most disgruntled and bitter of the Rapture populace. Angered by the greed of the elite and the blatant capitalistic favouritism of Andrew Ryan's philosophy, those who weren't blessed with fame and talent made this part of the city their home. McGee had lived there ever since coming to the city but he didn't see any reason to complain. Some areas and tenants were worse than others, this was true, but for the most part, he couldn't find anything really wrong with the Artemis Suites or the Square. Having come from a working-stock Irish family topside, he was thankful he had a good position at Fontaine Fisheries and a place to stay.

He passed through the main atrium of the Suites, under eaves of pastel-coloured laundry hung out to dry, surrounded by the timbre of folks chatting, laughing, and arguing. The worker nearly tripped over a pair of children kicking a ball that desperately called out for more air, stamped with the "Sinclair Toys" logo. He hoped they didn't have to pick syringe needles from their other playthings. He had to pick two out of a doll he'd bought for his niece the month before.

The tenant reserved for the dockworkers was past the atrium. A second questionnaire there finally led him to his man. Four flights of stairs and dodging a few rowdy off-duty dockhands saw him to his goal. McGee knocked on a door just before the end of the hall. A slip of paper tucked into a plastic sleeve read "R. Barsetti". The docks were constantly gaining, and losing, men. Living quarters were hardly ever permanent, with occupants moving and switching on a weekly basis.

"Yep?" came an answer from within. McGee let himself inside slowly and found his man lying on top of a shoddy, metal-framed bed, hidden behind the most recent issue of the "Rapture Tribune". A long, thin wisp of smoke curled gently near the daily's left corner.

"Hey, Ralph."

"How's doin', Paulie?" Barsetti lowered the newspaper he was engrossed in. McGee stared over at the reclined Ralph. He watched him through half-lidded, piercing blue eyes. Men envied them and women complimented them, saying they were prettier than Sinatra's; Paulie thought they were creepy. Below them, a cigarette hung limply from his lip. His short black hair was unkempt and a few strands hung over his forehead. He wore a grimy, torn undershirt that fit tightly over an impressively muscular torso. His arms, chest, and neck were covered in grey and black stick and poke tattoos. They looked like ones men got in prison, but Paulie wasn't too curious. Barsetti was one of the select few at the docks that McGee wouldn't have cared to tangle with, but he wasn't afraid of him.

"I'm okay, Ralphie. Listen, the boss wants you down at the wharf."

"What for?"

"Wants to talk to ya."

Ralph sneered. "It's my day off."

"You think I don't got better things to do than to play Fontaine's delivery boy?"

Barsetti wanted to argue, but, boss's orders made it difficult. He tossed the newspaper to the floor, heaving his bulk up from the thin mattress. Ralph pulled his suspenders back onto his shoulders and grabbed his jacket and cap.

"Alright, I'll follow ya."

Fontaine cocked his head slightly at the sound of his office door opening. In entered McGee, with Barsetti in tow. He adjusted his worker's cap, sneering at the other capo by the door.

"What's the word, boss?" he enquired, smothering his cigarette butt into the crystal ashtray on Fontaine's desk. His boss narrowed his eyes, getting comfortable in his chair.

"Hey there, Ralphie. Enjoyin' your day off?"

"…Cute. Whaddaya need?"

"I have a special…assignment…that I think you'd be well-suited for. Take a seat."

"How 'bout that?"

"Don't get cocky. Then again, maybe you should. You familiar with one Dr. J.S. Steinman?"

"Yeah. The guy's only the top surgeon in Rapture, not to mention one of the top medical chumps period."

"Exactly. Not only that, he's real close to Ryan. He was invited down here personally by him. He was always at parties and get-togethers and shit. Through careful manipulation of Steinman, I'm sure we could get to some choice info on and from his Highness."

"You not in with him anymore?"

"Let's just say our pal Ryan is afraid of a little…healthy competition."

Barsetti scratched a demanding itch on the back of his neck. "Alright, I follow you so far."

"This is where you come in. Here…get acquainted," Fontaine said, tossing a photograph across his desk. The dockhand studied it. It was a headshot of the surgeon, and he had to admit…he cut a striking profile. He had soft features, save for a defined nose. Neatly kept dark hair and dark eyes accented his face. Very handsome indeed. Barsetti had never met him in person and had only seen small photos or likenesses of him illustrated on posters around the Medical Pavilion.

"Lemme guess…you want me to get chummy with Steinman."

"A bit more than that," Fontaine said, grinning conspiratorially.

The worker sneered lightly. "…Ya lost me."

"I not only want you to get chummy with our good friend the surgeon, I want you to take him out to dinner, sleep with him, suck his cock if you have to."

"What for?"

"All to get to Ryan. That's why I picked you special for the job, Barsetti. I'd do it myself, however, Ryan's been keeping too close an eye on me and cock ain't exactly in my diet." Fontaine locked his hands behind his head, propping his feet up on the corner of the desk. The burly worker stood his ground.

"What makes you so sure I'm a queer?"

"I have ways," answered his boss, loosely flipping through a manila folder on the desk in front of him. "Don't worry, though. I'm not goin' to the police about it, and I ain't gonna tell no one, either. I thought it might be kinda useful. That's one of the reasons I hired you on."

"That's a first," Barsetti said to himself. "How do you know Steinman's a faerie, too?"

"Please. I've seen him at parties. The guy's queerer than a three dollar bill."

Ralph studied the photo again. "…I don't see it so much. Maybe a little—"

"Have you ever seen a normal guy so obsessed with his looks? I haven't. You've also never seen him after he's got some Arcadia Merlot in him. But this, this says enough," Fontaine snickered, flicking another photograph at his employee. Barsetti studied it closely. A stoolie apparently took it when he was on a lunch break or something. Steinman had his face buried into a magazine titled _Chaps_, with a partially nude man in cowboy attire on the cover.

"Okay. But, even if he is a homo, what makes you think he'd ever wanna date one of us? I'm no doctor."

"Thought I'd give you a bit of room to get creative. You gotta brain, use it. Go down to the Medical Pavilion, ask around for him, make a consultation to see him if you have to. I'll reimburse ya if there's a fee. Sweet-talk him, get him to go out with you or somethin', take him back to your apartment, I don't care. Just play him for a while. Get him hooked on you so he'll invite ya to a party or social that Ryan will be at. If you can get into his office at Hephaestus, that would be tops. It would also be sweet if you mooched from his inner circle, as well. Get something, anything that'll help Fontaine Futuristics. There'll be a sweet reward for you if you do well," promised Fontaine.

"How is someone like me gonna get in with artists and scientists and doctors and shit?"

"I told ya…figure it out."

Barsetti took a few moments to think this over. He set his mouth in a firm line when he had come to a decision. "Alright. I'll court the good doctor. Anything else you want?"

"That's all. I'll let ya know if I think of somethin' else."

"You said you'd reward me if I did well. Can I get that in writin'?"

"My word's not good enough for ya? You're lucky you even have a job down here. _Who's_ the one who found ya at a dock in New York? Barely makin' ends meet?"

"…Fine." Barsetti stood, pulling his cap downwards.

"Go down there now, get a jump on it. The sooner the better."

"So much for a day off," muttered Ralph under his breath. "You got it, boss. Oh, what you said before about his drinkin'…you mean he's a lightweight?"

"Oh no, he can hold his liquor, he just loosens up like an old rivet. I'm sure he's a Kraut, so he's no slouch."

"Good. He's gonna need a good stomach to run with me."

The cosmetic surgery ward of the Medical Pavilion was surprisingly empty. It came as something of a shock to Barsetti, but, then again, there were tons of rich assholes out there dying for work done by the surgeon. He must have just come at a lull in the chaos. He approached the busy receptionist at a circular desk under a gleaming sign that read "Surgical Savings". She was typing furiously on an electric typewriter.

"'Scuse me, Miss?"

She looked up.

"I'm here to see Steinman."

The girl cross-examined him for a lengthy time. She was pretty, but not what Barsetti was looking for. "Do you have an appointment?" she asked, gentle suspicion in her tone.

"…Yeah," the worker said flatly. She wasn't going to be fooled. She had a hard time believing _this_ character wanted any work done, much less could _afford_ work to be done.

"I'm sorry, but—"

"Look, miss, I need to see him. I'm not here to discuss surgery."

"Are you here to discuss a payment plan?"

"No, none of that."

"Then I'm afraid that's impossible."

"He don't take breaks or nothin'? He can't take five?"

"He's just finishing up with an operation now. He's busy cleaning—"

"Listen, Miss…" he said firmly.

It was apparent she was slowly becoming more and more intimidated by Barsetti. Her eyes flitted to one of the security cameras in the corner of the room; it was fixed on the front desk.

"I just need to speak with him for a few minutes. It's uh…about the new bathysphere tunnel they're putting onto the Pavilion. My boss wants to confirm a few things."

"…Very well. I'll go see if he'll meet with you, but he has an appointment at three o'clock."

"We'll be finished way before then."

The receptionist rose from her chair, eyeing Barsetti before disappearing into another room down the hall, the automatic doors slamming shut behind her.

"Skirts…" the worker said bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the circular desk.

Dr. Steinman whistled gaily to himself as he resealed the lid to the decontamination chamber for his surgical instruments. They'd need a good, long soak before the next patient came in. He washed his hands off in the large sink, his eyes scanning over the biohazard warning sticker on the cabinets. He'd read it so many times he could recite it on cue. He perked up as he heard the door to the operating theatre opening.

"Dr. Steinman?"

"Oh, what's new, Petunia?"

"There's someone here to see you."

"Is it my three o'clock?" he asked, wiping his hands off.

"No, he looks like a worker from the docks."

"From the docks?"

"Like Neptune's Bounty…like the lower-class."

"What would a dockhand want to see me about? He's not looking for an appointment, is he?"

"No, he told me specifically, and rudely, he's not here to schedule a consultation." Steinman looked thoughtful, leaning against the sink, one hand on his hip as he studied the checked tile. "He said something about coming to discuss the new bathysphere tunnel they're building from Port Neptune. Construction is almost completed, but, I don't think he was telling the truth. They wouldn't send any old worker down, the contractor himself was overseeing the whole thing. I told him you were busy, but, he seems adamant. He's a real rough-neck, sir."

"I'd imagine." Steinman shook his head. "I've already found a flaw in his logic: Anton Kinkaide came down last Tuesday to inform me it was almost complete and he did indeed say that if anything was to change or otherwise, he'd inform me personally, as one of the heads of the Medical Pavilion. I remember it clearly."

"What would you like me to do, Dr. Steinman?"

The surgeon grinned charmingly. "…Send him in."

"Really, sir? You're honestly going to see what he really wants?"

"Sure, why not? I want to see what mundane tripe he's got for me, and perhaps give him a lecture on doing some research if he insists on lying so. I can spare a few minutes. For fun, wire a security bot in the corner there, before the door, just in case. I don't usually trust those kinds of people. It's rare I see them here. One of the many perks of my position."

"Yes, sir. Right away." She disappeared again.

"Hm…I wonder what in the world a dockhand want with me? Seeing as he's not here on business," he muttered to himself. He chanced a look over to the sharp surgical tools being disinfected, wondering how quickly he could reach them if a crisis occurred. There was a reason scalpels were used in surgery, and as a celebrated surgeon, he knew how to use one very well.

Petunia returned a moment later with the visitor. Steinman was taken aback by who accompanied her. He expected a short, ragged man who may or may not be munching a week-old cigar and may or may not be packing a weapon or two. The dockworker towered easily a foot and a half above the receptionist and was many more times her width. His complexion and light olive skin-tone suggested perhaps a Mediterranean ethnicity. He had very large, powerful arms, a massive chest, and equally big, calloused hands. It was clear this man had known manual labour his entire life. The surgeon didn't know whether to be immediately threatened by the visitor or not. What caught him off guard almost as much as his size was his striking blue eyes. He saw the worker sneer as the robot buzzed over to the corner. Although he was intimidating, the doctor had to admit he also had a rugged masculinity that he found…attractive.

"Beggin' your pardon, Doc. I hope I'm not disturbin' you or nothin'," the newcomer said. The doctor remained silent, gaping. "How're you to-day, Doc?"

"Er…fine."

"How's business?"

"…Fine."

"Gotta lotta appointments to-day?"

"…Fine…er, I-I mean—yes!" Steinman answered coolly, taking a step back, nearly tripping over his own feet. The worker leaned forward to catch him, but eased off when Steinman regained his footing. "Come to discuss bathysphere tunnels, eh?"

"Huh? Oh, um, actually…no. I'm not."

"I know you're not. What does a gritter like you, want?"

The insult stung a bit, but Ralph shrugged it off; he'd been called worse.

"Don't worry. I may look like a sleaze, but I'm not here to rob ya or whack you or anything," smiled Barsetti. The surgeon eased up a little, but still kept his guard. Steinman never allowed himself to outwardly show his intimidation around other men. "Don't trust me, do ya?" he challenged the doctor, stepping forward. Steinman took a step back, this one more successful.

"I'm just…cautious, is all."

"It's because I'm a dockworker, right? From the lower class?"

"No, it's just…there _are_ people who don't like me so much. One can't be too careful, even down here."

"That's hard to believe. That's why you sent for the robot though, right? Just in case the big, bad fish-gutter tried to jump you?"

"The fact that you lied to my receptionist about why you're here isn't helping your cause, whatever it may be."

"Well, I wasn't gonna say I was here for surgery. I don't exactly look like someone who can afford you. Not to mention, I've had some bad experiences with doctors and stuff." Barsetti held up his left hand, displaying a missing ring finger and a badly scarred palm.

"…Well, I didn't think that you'd jump me. I always have one or two bots around."

"Most people I meet think I'm a crook. I'm used to it. I guess I do look a bit like a bruiser, though," he shrugged. He took a deep breath, chuckling a bit nervously. "Wow…meetin' you in person…you really _are_ just as handsome as your pictures. Perhaps even more so."

He had found Steinman's weakness. Hiding intimidation was one thing, flattery was a different story. His face reddened very lightly at the praise. It almost always did. He loved talking highly of himself, but better still, when other people talked highly of him.

"Oh, er…you think so?"

Barsetti leaned closer, resting his arms on one of the short walls. "Why do you think I came down here? I certainly can't afford no work."

The doctor giggled foolishly. "Wait, you're not…you're not _coming on_ to me, are you?"

The worker touched his cap politely. "My name's Ralph Barsetti, so it don't sound so creepy," he introduced himself, lowering his head to his arms. _Great…tattoos_, the surgeon thought to himself he as noticed both sets of knuckles. There were only three kinds of people who had tattoos: sailors, criminals, and gangsters. Ralph frowned, sitting back up. "Eh. Sorry I smell like the docks. I just came from work, after all. I would have gone home to change, but, I wanted to come see you as soon as possible."

"You mean to say that you came all the way down here from the docks just to flatter me?"

"And…" Ralph paused. "…To ask you if you were doin' anything later. That is, of course, you don't already got plans. You're a top-cat around here, so, I wouldn't be surprised if you already have—"

"No, no! I er…I'm single—"

"Oh? You're single?" chuckled Barsetti. Steinman's face went a deep red.

"Er…sorry. I-I thought you were asking if—"

"That was my next question, actually."

"Oh…so you're trying to ask me out on a date?"

The worker shrugged. "Alright, ya caught me. I _am_ tryin' to ask ya out on a date. Real smooth, eh? Betcha never thought you'd be asked out by a mug like me, eh? Betcha thought you'd getcher hands on one of those cute, young models who are on a constant quest to look like they're still in high school."

"Goodness, no. Truth be told, I haven't really had any time to date, or even look for a partner or anything."

"That's one of the perks of datin'. If ya don't like the chump, ya don't gotta see him again. Now, I know I ain't rich or handsome or nothin' like that, but, if ya give me a chance, I think I can show ya a nice time."

"I've got an appointment at three, though, and a consultation after that. It's just a routine nose job. Shouldn't take me more than three hours, with clean-up and everything. I have no idea how long the consultation will last. I never do."

"Okay, uh…" Ralph exhaled. "I'd invite you over to my place, but, I wouldn't exactly call a worker's tenant in the Artemis Suites 'romantic'."

"Romantic?" Steinman repeated.

"Eh, too soon. It ain't glamourous, either. It's not even nice. It's just a room, a messy room. How 'bout a drink or somethin'?"

"Well, alright. That sounds nice."

"Um, you ever been to the Leviathan? I er, I don't got that much money and I'm sure the fancy places you normally go to wouldn't let me in."

"Actually, I don't go out so much, to eat or drink. Well, only when I'm with friends. I like to cook."

"Well, the Leviathan ain't fancy, but it's not a dump, either. It's somewhere in between. A lot of workers go there."

"Alright. Sounds fine."

"Wait…so you'll go with me?"

"Well, I guess. I'm never exactly sure when I'll get out of here, but, it should be before nine at the very latest. Would you like me to meet you there around then?"

"What, nine?"

"Sure."

"Fine by me."

"Where is it?"

"It's over by Finley's Eat-In, Take-Out. Sorta in that complex."

"I think I know where it is. Alright. I'll meet you there around nine o'clock."

"You got it, Doc," the dockhand said with a wink.

"Good. Now, er, if you don't mind, I have to prepare the theatre for the next client. They should be here in just a few moments," he said, looking at the wall clock.

"Sure, I'll vacate. Thanks again, Dr. Steinman," he smiled, touching the brim of his cap once more as he exited the theatre.

Steinman waited until he was gone, setting up his instrument tray. "Social class speaks louder than words, Mr. Barsetti." A nurse appeared with the next client a few seconds later.

"Petunia told me a dockworker, of all people, was in here talking with you, Dr. Steinman," she stated.

The surgeon rolled his eyes. "Yes, Nurse Virginia, he was."

She stifled her laughter. "What did a brute from the fisheries want with you?"

"Don't worry, Nurse Virginia. I've handled everything. Welcome back, Mrs. Dellahunt. Are you ready? Would you help her get prepared, Nurse? I'll only be a minute."

Nine o'clock.

Ralph Barsetti sat at the bar by himself. He chanced a look at his wristwatch, immediately looking back to the front doors. No one entered. Sighing, he took yet another gaze around the place. A few tables were filled and there were four other men at the bar, all in sporadic seats away from the dockhand. Ralph recognised a few of the faces there, but none of them yielded his date.

"Well, he _was_ workin' all day, and he did say 'around nine'. I guess I'll give him a bit more time," Ralph said to himself, ordering a beer.

Meanwhile, Dr. Steinman fastened an expesive watch around his wrist. He was dressed, cleaned-up, and ready to head out, however…he wasn't headed towards the bar.

"…Dockhands…they're so plebian," he chuckled airily, tugging on the skirts of his suitcoat. "I wonder just how long he'll wait for me. To be a fly on the wall…"

Nine forty-five.

Okay, still no Steinman.

Ralph was getting a bit miffed. He'd already pounded three bottles on an empty stomach, save for the small bowl of peanuts he'd put the hurt on. He was hungry and pissed, a deadly combination. He stared harshly across the bar, crushing a peanut shell between a few fingers. The barkeep noticed him, sneering right back.

"What's _that_ look for?" he challenged.

"Don't go there, man." Ralph pulled another cigarette from his pack…the last cigarette. He growled, stuffing it back into a pocket. He lit it, taking a long drag.

"—And so he's waiting for me there, now," Steinman relayed.

"Another martini?" Ryan offered, unscrewing the top to the tumbler.

"Please." The doctor offered his glass. "I suppose even in a utopia, there are fools. _Et Arcadia Ergo_, as they say."

"Were I in your place, I wouldn't risk stoking the fire of a dockworker's temper. However, the only person I can speak for is myself."

"Oh, I'm not afraid of him, Andrew."

"You could have fooled me."

Steinman gave him a cross look, rising a bit more to the defense.

"Judging by your stories to-night, I'd say you were more than afraid of him. You have a tendency to…talk a bit, when you're nervous."

The surgeon didn't respond, sipping his martini.

"On the other hand, I'd venture to surmise you have a certain desire to meet him outside the Pavilion. You left nothing to the imagination in describing his physical appearance. My guess is that you're…eager, to get to know him better on that plane."

"….Very well. I admit it."

"So you're physically attracted to him?"

Steinman chuckled into his gin and vermouth. "Well, his face isn't really what I had in mind as far as potential suitors, but, his body is an entirely different story."

Ryan sneered a bit after hearing that. "If you're that unsatisfied with his facial features, no doubt you could always fix them."

"Hmph! He couldn't afford me."

"Why don't you go meet him? He'd be easy to get rid of if you discover you don't want him around. Sullivan and I would help you out if he didn't leave you alone. If anything, you could use him only for your carnal urges."

"Hm…I still feel I could do better than a stevedore."

"I understand," Ryan nodded, plucking one of the olives from his toothpick.

"I also don't know what sort of things I have in common with him. If anything at all!"

"_He_ approached _you_, correct?"

"Correct."

"I think you should try. Even if it doesn't work in the end, you've not much to lose," Ryan suggested with a shrug. "Who knows? Perhaps he knows something about the smuggling rings. You would be doing me a great service if he did."

"I can only imagine what that would do for my publicity." Steinman sighed, looking down at his wristwatch. "It's getting late enough already. I have to be up early in the morning."

"Have you ever performed surgery after a few martinis?"

"Heavens no! But, I don't think it would inhibit my skill. In fact, I _know_ it wouldn't." The surgeon finished his last drink. "Well, I suppose I'll head out, then. Thank you for having me over and thanks for the drinks."

"You know you're always welcome, friend. Glad I could be of service."

"No…_I'm_ glad _I_ could be of service."

"That's it. I'm outta here!" growled Ralph. He threw a wad of cash at the barkeep, not caring if it was more than what he owed, and stormed out of the bar. Outside, he nearly ran into a passing gentleman in a suit.

"Get outta my way!" Barsetti ordered angrily, shoving him to one side.

"Hey, fuck you, man!" the "gentleman" hollered. "You don't own this city!"

Barsetti was easily twice his size but he chose not to engage, just in case the pest was one of those "splicers". He never took plasmids and he knew not to mess with those who did.

He stalked through the tunnels, growling to himself. "Fuckin' yuppie, bourgie doctor," cursed the worker. "Nice goin', Frank. Why'd you think he'd ever wanna waste his life with someone like us? Someone like me?" Ralph kicked over a garbage can. "He's probably up in his million dollar suite fuckin' some stupid young model or somethin'. Fuck all this shit!" He halted in the middle of the alley he was passing through, gripping his workers cap. "Fuck all this shit!"

"Hey! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?!" demanded a lady from a fourth-storey window.

"It's none of your business!" shouted Ralph. "It's no one's business," he said softly, staring at the ground. He collapsed on the back step of an apartment complex, digging his fingers through his black hair. "I hate everyone…" His breathing was heavy and he felt tears welling up in his eyes. The worker swiftly wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve. "Well…what am I gettin' so worked-up for? He's just a stupid doctor. I shoulda expected this." Barsetti slowly rose to his feet, placing his cap back on his head. "I just hope Fontaine'll give me another chance." He spat on the ground, slipped his hands into his pockets, and continued on through Apollo Square.

Ralph Barsetti lumbered into his tenant. He tossed his cap and jacket to the floor, with the rest of what little possessions he had. It was littered with other clothes, mostly dirty, cigarette butts, and empty beer bottles. Sighing, he pulled his sweater off, dropping it into a corner.

"Hey, Ralphie. What's doin'?" another worker asked, leaning casually against the doorframe.

"Hey, Snub," answered Barsetti, falling onto his thin, squeaking mattress.

"Where you been? You had the day off but I haven't seen your mug at all."

"Eh, froggie went a-courtin'."

"…You don't mean _you_?"

"I do mean me."

"You were unsuccessful, I see."

"Psh." Ralph rolled his eyes, locking his hands behind his head as he stared at the cracked plaster on the ceiling.

"Here, I've got the magic elixir for the blues," Snub smiled, handing his pal a bottle of 123 brand beer. Ralph sat up more, popping the cap off. Snub held his out, Ralph touching his against it. He immediately drained half of its contents.

"Well, who was it? This is news to me, and you tell me everything."

"…Dr. J.S. Steinman."

The other worker nearly choked on his lager. "Ralph, seriously?"

"Yeah, s'there a problem?"

"He's like, the best doctor in Rapture!"

"He's a surgeon, actually."

"Well, he's still one of them high-brow, upper-classmen. What're ya doin' with the likes of him?"

"Fontaine gave me an assignment. He said if I could court Steinman, you know, make him fall in love with me or somethin', so I could—"

"Get married, buy a farm, live happily ever after, and have dozens and dozens of children?"

"_Listen_. He wants me to use him to get close to Ryan so I can steal I guess like secret papers or information and stuff for him and his business at the Futuristics."

"That's bad news, Ralphie. I got no respect for people who use others, especially in here," Snub shook his head, tapping his chest, over his heart.

"Like it's actually gonna work anyway. Nobody's ever been into me for too long. I ain't got nobody." He polished off his bottle, letting loose a rumbling belch.

"So, was his idea of a romantic night out cuttin' into someone's face…while you watch?" chuckled Snub, adding a bit of sensuality to the last bit.

"Nah. He agreed to meet me over at the Leviathan at nine, after he got off work…but he never showed."

"Never?"

"Nope. I waited around for just about an hour, but he ditched me."

"Really? You were ditched by Dr. Steinman?"

"It ain't funny, bub," growled Ralph, turning on his side. "Fontaine'll kill me if I don't deliver."

"I think he'll do a bit more than that," he said, taking the cigarette from behind his ear as he leaned casually against his friend's back.

"Don't remind me."

"You gotta light?"

Ralph reached over to his bedside table, tossing his spare butane lighter over his shoulder to Snub. He listened to the click as his friend snapped it open like a switchblade and shut it. They were silent for a few moments, listening as two other workers argued in a room across the hall.

"Why the fuck would Fontaine think a posh bastard like Steinman would go for one of us?"

Snub shrugged. "Beats me. Guess he figures maybe he'll be into one of us, for some reason or another. Some of them yuppie bastards like us workin' class stiffs. You also gotta pretty big dick. Maybe Steinman's into that."

"You're too kind," Ralph chuckled.

"…D'ya think he's cute?"

"Actually…yeah. He ain't too shabby. He's got a really handsome face, one that you remember. He was wearin' a big, bloody surgery coat when I met him, but, he looks like he's got a nice figure, good 'n slender."

"When ya asked him out, did he sound, ya know, interested?"

"He looked like he was gonna shit himself. My guess is that he was pretty intimidated by me."

"What'd ya say to him?"

"I told him that I've had a crush on him for a while and that I just got the nerve to come and talk to him to-day. I also asked him if he wanted to do anything later, sorta like a date. Before I asked, I said that I wouldn't be surprised if he already had a partner, but he cut me off and told me flat-out he was single."

"Hm, sounds like he was pretty eager, if he told ya that straight-away."

"Maybe he just hasn't got any cock in a while."

"Nah. I bet Steinman ain't a hussy. I bet he plays hard to get for a while. He's probably afraid of ya, too. I mean, look atcha. You're the size of an ox. If I were a timid surgeon, I'd be afraid of you too."

"He wasn't timid, though. I thought he would be, but, he didn't back down. Backed away, but not down. And I wasn't a heel to him or nothin', I was actually nice."

"Were ya, Ralphie?"

"Well…_nicer_."

"Yeah, but I bet he's a real gentleman. You're gonna have to act pretty much the same way."

"Hey, I'm gentleman enough! I ain't rude to dames and I don't steal from kids."

"That's not exactly what I mean. You gotta start doin' stuff like holdin' doors open for him and other people, usin' the right silverware at dinner, and er, showerin' a bit more. Mind your P's and Q's and stuff."

"We spend all day guttin' fish and haulin' cargo from bathyspheres. How're we supposed to smell?"

"C'mon, Ralphie. You and I both know that you don't wash as much as you should. We're all just so used to each other's stink, it don't bother us no more. Didn't your ma ever teach ya that?"

"Huh. My ma was too busy workin' her ass off just so's we could eat," Barsetti muttered, averting his eyes from Snub's.

"I'm just sayin', kid. Somethin' to think about, if ya wanna get in cahoots with Steinman."

Ralph pondered on what his pal had said, hugging his pillow a bit tighter.

"You wanna finish this?" Snub offered him his cig.

"Thanks," Ralph said, accepting. "Say, you wouldn't happen to have an extra pack, would ya?"

"I dunno…" Snub said, eyeing the pack in his hand. "This is my last one. Carton's out. Gotta pick up another in the AM."

"I'll meetcha halfway, if ya do. Like always." Barsetti shot his friend a charming smile.

"Yeah, like always, big guy." His friend groaned as he pulled himself up to his feet. "Well, I'm gonna hit the sack. You workin' early to-morrow?"

"Yep."

"Alright. See ya then."

"Hey, er…Snub?" The other man turned around. "…Thanks, for all that. I think I'll try it."

"No prob. Glad to be of service. I'll see ya in the AM, then," he grinned, touching the brim of his cap. Ralph nodded as Snub shut the door. He sighed for the umpteenth time, flopping back on his pillow.

"Eh, guess I'll go down there and try again. Maybe he was just scared of me." Having nearly bummed the cig, Barsetti put it out on his tongue and pitched the butt somewhere off to his left.


	2. Phase 2

Phase 2-April, 1958

Barsetti returned to the Medical Pavilion the following day. He cautiously made his way to Dr. Steinman's Aesthetic Ideals, taking into consideration what his pal Snub had told him the previous night: _Act more like a gentleman_.

The same young receptionist was there. She leaned over, filing away a few documents in folders. She looked up, hearing his boots scuffing the waxed floor.

"Mornin', Miss," he said, removing his cap politely.

"Oh, er…good morning," she said flatly. "I assume you're here to see Dr. Steinman again?"

"That's right, Miss. He in?"

"He just got in. His first appointment isn't for another half an hour. I suppose you can see him." She nodded towards his office.

"Thank ya kindly, Miss," he nodded, placing his cap back on his head as he continued forth. "Uh, sorry I was kinda pushy the other day," he said, turning to apologise before moving on. "I didn't mean to act like such a heel."

"Oh…well, thank you, sir."

"…Ralph," he nodded with a smile.

"Thank you, Ralph."

"Have a good one."

"Thanks, you too."

Another nurse sidled up to the desk, speaking softly. "Do you know anything about this character, Petunia?"

"No. He never specifies."

"He's not Marjorie's new boyfriend, is he? Trying to get work for free from Steinman?"

"No. I've never see them together."

"…I wish he'd come and ask for _me_ sometime," the nurse said lustily. "I'd like to watch _him_ at the docks…lifting all that cargo…"

Petunia ignored her. She wanted nothing to do with the newcomer.

Ralph heard most of what the nurse said, smiling triumphantly to himself, proud to have made one swoon and knowing she'd never stand a chance.

He found Steinman coming down the short hall, his nose buried in a stack of leaflets. He ran smack into Ralph, completely unaware.

"Oh! I'm terribly sorry! I didn't—" he paused the moment he saw who it was. The huge dockworker removed his cap again, tucking it underneath one of his suspenders. "…Oh…" Steinman almost sneered.

"Hey, I uh…I missed ya last night," he said calmly.

_Perfect, he's persistent_, thought Steinman.

"…Yes. And how about that?" the surgeon said, folding his arms over his chest. Ralph winced. "Here…let's talk in my office," the doctor sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, sure."

Barsetti followed him inside. The office was very nice. It had a rustic feel to it, with wood paneling and cedar floors. On the walls hung several abstract pieces by Picasso and Duchamp; on easels stood before and after photos of past patients. Steinman took a seat behind the desk; Ralph eased into a chair in front of it.

"I've got one or two things to say to you, Mr. Barzini—"

"Barsetti, sir."

"Whatever—"

"Um, I uh—"

"You're interrupting me."

"…Sorry."

"Look. I appreciate what you're trying to do, and I'm a bit flattered in a way, but, I did some thinking and I've come to the conclusion that I really don't have any desire to date you."

The worker actually felt the sting. He was right.

"I'm the head of maxillofacial sugery, I've won numerous awards and accolades for my work, and, on top of this, Mr. Ryan invited me down here personally." He watched Barsetti from the corners of his eyes. "In short, why would I bother with the peasant, when I could easily handle a noble?"

"…Was I too forward? Did I make you, ya know, uneasy?"

"Actually, yes. You do put me on edge. You're much larger and stronger than I am. You work at Port Neptune and you live in Apollo Square. Let's just say the people there aren't the most civilised or educated beings in the world."

Ralph got up, placing his cap back on and making for the door. He'd had enough with this asshole.

"Where are you going? I wasn't finished talking," Steinman called out.

"Yeah? At this rate, you're never gonna stop, are ya?!"

The surgeon looked mortified that someone had dare speak to him in such a manner.

"…Look, it was stupid of me. This whole thing. We're really different, ya know? And I make you uncomfortable. I'll just leave, I can take a hint." Ralph pulled out his wallet, rifling through it. "Oh…and you can have this. I don't need it no more. Not after hearing all that jaw-work." He slapped a piece of paper down on the desk, sliding it towards the surgeon. Steinman picked it up, studying it carefully. It was the colour ad the Aesthetic Ideals put in one of the local magazines. It had their telephone number and most importantly, a well-rendered portrait of the doctor himself he commissioned a friend to draw. He put the ad down just in time to see the hefty worker shutting the door behind him.

"Man o' man!" Ralph growled to himself. "I can't believe that! Never met a man who was more full of himself! 'I'm Dr. Steinman, and I don't even have to wipe my own ass 'cuz I'm a great doctor'!" mimicked the worker. "Sheesh…you kiddin' me?" He leaned against a wall, staring up at the ceiling. "…Now what am I gonna tell Fontaine?"

The door opened, Steinman sliding out quietly. He clutched the ad in one hand, staring up at his visitor.

"Don'tchu got some faces to rearrange, Mr. Important?"

Steinman clutched his wrist as he turned away, stymieing his departure.

"What's this?"

"You got eyes. It's the ad you put in the monthly. I—"

"Yes, I _know_ it's my ad. But, why do you have it? You said yourself you can't afford work. I know you can't afford me."

"For your information—" he grunted, easily jerking his wrist away, "…I keep it in my wallet and I look at it from time to time. You know, because I…think you gotta really, really pretty face."

The doctor's eyes narrowed slightly, sizing him up.

"To be honest, I was actually savin' up some money. I been tryin' to scrape together enough to make a consultation…just so's I could see you and talk to ya."

Steinman looked down at the ad, then back to the tall worker.

"I came down to tell it to ya, but…you ain't interested. I can take a hint." Ralph slowly turned his back, continuing down the hall.

"…Wait." The surgeon's voice echoed a bit in the empty hall.

Folding it and slipping it into his pocket, he caught the stevedore up.

"…I'm flattered, Mr. Barsetti."

"…You ain't mockin' me?"

"No, I'm not." He smiled slightly. "As you can imagine, I've had a few people, men and women, mostly women, approach me with the same intentions, and I've turned all of them down. Perhaps you're different from most stevedores and other people like you, so—"

"'People like you'…" Ralph echoed bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, I…I didn't mean…" he cleared his throat. "You must at least understand where I'm coming from, though."

"No. I don't. I don't know what it's like to be rich and talented and famous. Which you were so careful to point out. I'd almost forgotten."

"I know what I said, and I meant it…it was just…I was…" The surgeon sat down heavily in a chair outside his office. He pulled off his reading glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "…This is going to be one of those days, I just know it. Things have been very irritating so far, to-day. I've already had two clients cancel on me at the last minute and I have to deal with one of my least favourite clients later."

They were both silent for an uncomfortable amount of time. The worker put on his best act, remembering his mission. He was determined not to fail. He squatted by the chair, to the left of Steinman. He stared longingly into his eyes, like a lost puppy.

"I-I like ya, Doc. I got the hots for ya somethin' terrible. I think you're one of the most handsome guys I ever seen…maybe even _the_ most handsome guy. I know we're really different and that I ain't what you had in mind as far as datin' material goes…but I really, really like ya." Here, he gently reached out, taking one of the doctor's hands in his. Steinman stared at him, a bit lost. "…I'm sorry I make ya feel this way. I just really wanted to see ya last night, outside the Medical Pavilion."

Steinman sighed deeply. He decided against telling him he had deliberately skipped their date to drink with Andrew Ryan. "I suppose I just let my nerves get the best of me."

Ralph shrugged. "Hey, you can't help all that. I do look like a bruiser. I'd probably do the same if'n I were you. I guess I ain't mad. Maybe a little disappointed, but not mad."

"Disappointed?"

"Yeah…" Ralph scratched the back of his neck. "Like I said…I really wanted to see ya. It's hard, ya know, bein' a homo, especially at a place like the docks. It's full a' guys, and pretty much all of 'em aren't like us, at least…no one's willin' to tell if they are. I don't know of any other guys like me. I get teased all the time by my foremans and stuff. The other guys don't really mock me to my face, because I'm bigger'n most of 'em. Then I saw you…well, pictures of you. You make me a little…" he looked down at his groin, "um…excited. You're really talented and smart and…good with your hands. I uh…I wanna get to know ya."

Steinman grinned, sidling a bit closer. "…Really?"

"Really truly, if I may say so."

"You may."

"I bet you gotta equally cute personality. I'd like to get to know ya better, if you'd like. I really do think I can show ya a nice time. I don't got a lotta money and I ain't a member a' no kinda special club or nothin', but I think you could have fun with me."

"I can honestly say those are some of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me."

"Aw, shucks," Barsetti said bashfully.

"That's sweet, Ralph. It really is. I only hope you mean what you say."

"I most certainly do."

The surgeon nodded. "…Sure! I'll give you another chance. This time I'll actually show up. I er, hope _you'll _give me another."

"You wanna maybe go out to eat or somethin'?"

"I would, but, I have to work late to-night. By the time I get home, shower, change and everything, well…I don't think I could swing it."

The dockhand looked let-down.

"We could go for a walk in Arcadia, perhaps? Ryan gave me permission to get in for free. I can bring a guest as well."

"Whoa, you're pals with Ryan?" Ralph immediately became more interested.

"Yes, we're…good friends."

Barsetti nodded. "Pick you up at eight-thirty, then?"

"Sounds fine." He stood up, seeing him out. "Oh, before you leave…" Steinman hurried back to his desk. He picked one of his business cards from a small porcelain holder. With a pen, he wrote on the back of it, handing it off to Ralph outside. "Just tell the guard at the front that you're there to see me. Show him that if he doesn't believe you."

"Gotcha."

"And this…" Steinman said, tapping a number. "Is my home number, in case you need it. Don't go giving it out."

"Hey, that's swell! I won't, don't worry. You want mine? In case somethin' comes up?"

"Sure." The doctor tore off a small sheet of paper from his personal stationary, handing Ralph a pen.

"We, uh, only have one phone in the tenant. Ask for Ralph if someone answers."

"Will do."

"So, eight-thirty?"

"Eight-thirty it is."

"See you then?"

"It's a date," Steinman said. Ralph pulled his cap back down on his head, touching the short brim before he left. After the door shut, Steinman collapsed in the chair. "A bit square around the jaw, but, what a body! I'm glad I'm giving him another chance. This might get interesting after all…"

Outside the Medical Pavilion, Ralph laughed to himself. "He fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. Never knew I was such a good actor. And I thought this mug was gonna be tough. Heh, I gotta admit, though, he _is_ handsome; should be a nice piece of tail. Thank _you_, Frank. I take back what I said last night."

Ralph ran a comb through his hair. It was perhaps the first time he had done so in years. He scooped up a plentiful helping of pomade onto his fingers, slicking his black locks back. He stared at his reflection in the small mirror hanging from a crooked nail in the wall.

"Lookit that ugly mug," he muttered, setting the comb down. He sighed, picking up a sweater from the floor. Ralph studied it for a good long time, making sure there weren't any stains or tears on it. Everything checked out, until he brought it closer. It reeked of sweat and his body odour.

"Eh, this would kill his libido faster than a speedin' bullet," he growled, tossing it in a corner. He picked up a few others, they all were either soiled, torn, or stank.

"Great, now I got nothin' to wear?" Growling, he exited his room, knocking on the end door directly to his right. It was swiftly answered.

"Hey, Ralphie. Haven't left for your date yet?"

"Nah. Hey, um, Snub…can ya do me a favour?" he asked his mate.

"Sure, pal. Whatcha need?"

"Can I borrow one a' your sweaters?"

"We got the same kind of sweaters, ya know," chuckled Snub.

"Look, mine are all full of holes or they stink. I can't go over to Steinman's like that. Especially not on a first date."

"Alright, alright, lemme get one. Meetcha at your place."

"Thanks."

Ralph took a seat on his bed, leaving the door open. Snub appeared moments later with a cream-coloured sweater draped over his arm, like a bathroom attendant.

"Here ya go, kid. But I'm warnin' ya, might be a tad small."

"I don't care," answered Barsetti, pulling it over his head. Snub laughed out loud when Ralph pulled it down, or, at least tried to. It was form-fitting, but it came down just above his navel and the sleeves barely made it past his elbows. Ralph narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth.

"It ain't funny, Snub!"

"You kiddin'?! You look like a jerk! Told ya it wouldn't fit!" His laughter was muffled by the sweater as Ralph pulled it off and threw it at his head. "I'm sorry. You're just such a big boy, is all."

"Well, what am I gonna do now?" he despaired, sitting down heavily on his mattress. Snub looked thoughtful for a moment, tossing the sweater over a shoulder.

"What size are you, Ralphie?"

"Huh?"

"Huge? Okay, _un momento per favore_." The other worker hurried out of the tenant and down the hall. He returned a few minutes later, another garment slung over a shoulder.

"Here, try this."

Barsetti gripped the shirt offered to him. It was a large white button-up, freshly cleaned.

"You take this from the laundry or somethin'?" enquired Ralph.

"What he don't know won't hurt him."

Reluctantly, Ralph buttoned it up. The shirt was a bit tight around his arms and chest, but it was wearable, much more so than anything Snub could offer.

"Well, s'it okay?"

"Yeah, fits ya alright."

"Good. I wanna look decent for Steinman."

"I take it he hasn't kissed ya yet?" Snub enquired.

"Nope. He told me off to-day. If I hadn't have worked the ol' Ralphie charm on him, he probably woulda called security on me."

"Then I take it he ain't gonna put out."

"No way! 'Specially since he ain't even kissed me. You were right, he's gonna be a rough tree to climb. I don't wanna be pushy…but I wanna get laid real bad." He put his jacket on, flipping up the collar. Turning to Snub, he shrugged his shoulders. "Well…how do I look?"

"You actually fix your hair?"

"I did, man. Think he'll like it?"

The other worker shrugged. "Guess you'll find out…_il mio_ _bambino_," Snub said jokingly, pinching one of the big worker's cheeks.

"Lay off!" he demanded, pushing his hand away.

"Hey, you don't hit your mother."

"You ain't my ma…"

Barsetti strode towards him. He gripped the back of Snub's head, pushing it closer to his groin. The shorter worker stared up at him, sneering lightly.

"…Whatcha scared of, Snubsy?"

"I don't do that, is all."

Ralph let him go, backing towards the door. "Suit yourself. Wish me luck."

"Luck."

A little before eight-thirty, Barsetti managed to find Steinman's apartment complex, a wide building furnished with a sign that read "Hera's Arms". It was in a part of the city he didn't usually frequent; it was mainly reserved for the elite and he stuck to the slums. Just as predicted, the guard stopped him at the door.

"Where do you think _you're_ goin', tough guy?" he asked, holding out a hand to stymie Barsetti's entrance. The tips of his fingers on his left hand glowed a dangerous orange-white. Ralph tread carefully; he had no desire to be lit on fire.

"I'm here to see Doc Steinman. I was invited."

The guard raised an eyebrow and tried to stifle a chuckle. "Steinman invited _you_? What, you so ugly he needs _all night_ to work on ya?"

"Real funny, guy. Here," Ralph sneered, flashing him the card. The other man read it to himself, mumbling the words. The guard spat, handing it back.

"Alright, alright, you're clear." He touched a series of corresponding buttons on a panel and the doors slid noiselessly open. Grunting, Ralph entered, heading for the lift. A Negro attendant tipped his hat politely as he entered.

"Which floor, mistah?"

"Oh, uh, I can do it," Ralph said, reaching for the panel.

"Which floor?" the attendant said persistently, covering the panel.

"Um…" the worker studied the business card. "…Sixth floor."

"Sixth floor, sah," the man repeated as the door shut and the lift ascended.

"You can call me Ralph," smiled the worker with a shrug, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"I knows mah place," the attendant said.

"It's okay, man, I insist. Ralph Barsetti."

The elevator worker kept quiet. Ralph sighed, rolling his eyes playfully. He exited on the sixth floor, tipping his cap to the attendant as he left. The complex was very swanky, something the worker was prepared for. He wondered how he was ever going to get into Arcadia, and for free. Ralph pulled the card back out, mumbling the numbers to himself.

"Okay…sixth floor…apartment numberrr…twelve." He noticed a golden plaque with "Dr. J.S. Steinman" engraved on it. "…Shit…" he sighed, shaking his head. He knocked on Steinman's door, patiently waiting for a response. The surgeon opened it a few moments later, looking a bit disheveled as he furiously tried to tie his tie.

"Good evening, Mr. Barsetti! I-I'm sorry, I'm not ready yet. The last appointment took a bit longer than I had—"

"Hey, hey, it's no big deal," shrugged Ralph.

"But I agreed to the time. This isn't professional."

"Huh, you make it sound like I'm Mr. Ryan or somethin'. Shit happens."

"Watch your language, please."

"Oh, uh…sorry."

"Mistakes happen. Come in, come in," the doctor offered, standing to one side.

"I made sure to shower, so I don't smell like fish or nothin'," chuckled Barsetti.

"You put on cologne, too."

"Ah, you noticed. Too flashy?"

"Actually, I think I wear the same kind."

"Yeah?"

"It's _Chuvstvennostʹ No. 8_, isn't it?"

"I dunno. I borrowed it from one of my buddies."

"Here…" the surgeon gripped Ralph's shoulders, pulling himself up closer. Barsetti leaned in. He fought the temptation to grab Steinman's waist and pull him even closer, remembering what Snub had told him.

"Hey, it _is_ the same. Pardon my sayin', but I thought you'd go for somethin' more expensive."

"Well, it just goes to show: I can be average, too," Steinman smiled, fastening his watch around his wrist. "Did you eat already? I made quiche and I have some leftover. It's over on the counter there, if you want some."

"I ate earlier. Thanks though."

"Are you sure? I've been told by quite a few people that I'm quite the cook."

"I believe it. Thanks, though."

"Suit yourself. Would you give me one moment? I'll be out in a just a second."

"Take your time," Ralph shrugged.

"Take a seat, make yourself at home, within reason," Steinman offered, passing down a small hallway. Ralph lowered his bulk to an armchair near the door. He panned his head from right to left, taking in the wide apartment. Most of the furnishings looked expensive, while a portion looked rustic, like his office at the Aesthetic Ideals. The kitchen area was immaculate, spotless and shining. He must be a good cook to have such shiny, fancy equipment. Ralph watched the hallway, resting his head in an open palm. The surgeon came off as rather chaste…he wondered how long it would be until he got him in bed. Or if he'd even be willing.

The doctor returned, pulling a grey, pinstripe suit-coat onto his shoulders. Ralph stood to meet him. Steinman smiled charmingly at his guest.

"Um, sorry. I don't got a suit or nothin' fancy."

"'Anything' fancy."

"Huh?"

"I don't own 'anything' fancy."

"Um…"

"It's grammatically correct. You said 'nothing' when it should have been 'anything'. It was a double-negative. Oh, and 'I don't have' or 'own' a suit."

"Oh…" Ralph hated people who were sticklers, especially when they tried to tell him how to act or speak.

"You don't need to dress formal to go to Arcadia. You're fine as you are."

"Well…you look nice, if I might say."

Steinman blushed. "You might. Ready?"

"After you," Ralph said politely, with a curt nod. The surgeon's face kept a reddish hue as he exited.

"This is one fancy joint, Doc," he continued as they stepped into the hall.

"Thank you, but, it isn't quite as fancy as the Mercury Suites. I had no desire to live there. I can afford it, but, I can't stand most of the other occupants."

They were greeted by the same attendant as the lift arrived back at the sixth floor.

"Good evenin', Mistah Doctah Steinman!" the Negro man said.

"Good evening, Walter."

"You all goin' out to-night, Mistah Doctah Steinman?"

"Yes. I'm taking a walk in Arcadia."

"You takin' Mistah Ralph with ya?"

"I am."

"Well, you all have a good time!"

"Thank you, Walter," smiled the surgeon. He exited the lift, adjusting his lapels.

"Just call me Ralph…" the worker said softly, slipping him two one dollar bills. The man looked up at him with wide eyes. The worker smiled, touching his cap as he followed Steinman out of the complex. They made for the bathysphere station attached to it.

"He's a nice guy, ain't he?" Ralph said.

"Yes, he knows his place," the surgeon nodded haughtily. Ralph was taken slightly aback at this. Then again, it didn't surprise him. "The bathysphere ride is a bit longer, but it's definitely worth the wait, if you haven't been there before."

"Actually, no, I haven't."

"Good! Then this will be a nice experience for you. It truly is a remarkable place."

"I bet it is. Trees under the ocean. Who woulda thought?"

They promptly secured a bathysphere to themselves, sitting opposite each other. The ride made for quaint conversation, despite its length.

"This is gonna sound kinda crazy, but, I know your initials are J.S., but I don't know your first name."

"John, John Sebastian Steinman."

Ralph grinned at his new friend. "…Yeah, you look like a John."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"It's good, good. Sorry."

"I'm not offended. Actually, my name was originally _Johann_ Sebastian Steinmann, but, my father changed the spelling of his surname sometime ago, to seem less ethnic. In grade school, the other kids used to make fun of my name. I got teased a lot for my ethnicity. I ended up telling my instructors that I'd rather be called John, the English equivalent to Johann. When I went off to school, I did officially change my name. I also didn't want people to know I was German, what with the war and such."

"Seems like a good reason," nodded Barsetti. "It would've been strange callin' you 'Doc' all night. Unless you like bein' called that."

Steinman laughed. "Well, I am proud of my title, but, this isn't a formal party or anything. I'd like to think that I can be myself on a date."

"So…you're okay with spendin' time with me? Out in public?"

"Much of Arcadia isn't public anymore, I'm afraid. You have to pay nowadays."

"Why's that?"

John shrugged. "I'm not sure. I'm not exactly one to question Mr. Ryan's doing."

"Oh, so this was his idea?"

The surgeon shrugged again. "I'm sure, but, your guess is as good as mine."

Ralph made a mental note: Fontaine might want to know about that.

"Where are you originally from?" Steinman furthered.

"I was born and bred on the mean streets of Chicago. How 'bout you?"

Steinman did a double-take. "I was born in Chicago!"

"No way! Where?" laughed Ralph.

"The north-side."

Ralph frowned. "…South-side."

"My parents moved us to New York when I was three, though. I highly doubt we would have met at all. I don't remember it so well."

"It's a shame we had to wait this long."

Steinman flushed ever so lightly. He studied his acquaintance's face closely. "What ethnicity are you, Ralph? You're obviously American, but—"

"My old man was Irish and my ma was Italian. I take after her, which I'm glad of."

"I was just thinking…Ralph isn't exactly an Italian name."

Barsetti shrugged. "My folks weren't too creative when it came to namin' kids."

"You have such suave Mediterranean features. It's easy to see you take after your Italian side."

"Suave?" Ralph said with amusement. "Please. I'm not that."

"Don't be modest! You look very mysterious and sophisticated."

"_That's_ a new one."

"Do you speak Italian?"

"_Sì, parlo italiano_. _Fin_ _da quando ero giovane_."

The doctor stared at him rather blankly.

"Yeah, I have. Since I was a kid. I practically learned that before English. You said you're German, right?"

"Correct. My parents were ethnic Germans. They immigrated to America in 1913."

"That makes sense, now that I think about your last name."

"Yes. They managed to get out before the war began."

"You speak any German?"

"Some, yes, but my parents always encouraged English in our household. They were very naturalised. I've had one or two conversations with Dr. Tenenbaum just to see how much I remember. She said I speak it pretty fluently for someone who hasn't used it so often. She's spent time in…she's been around the language just as much as I have. With respect; I've been surrounded by it my whole life."

Ralph recogised the name. Fontaine had mentioned her once or twice, as did Snub, who often did tasks for her and the boss. He put the matter aside. "You got any siblings?"

"No, I was an only child. Which I suppose I was glad of."

"Siblings can be alright. They were the only ones what kept me from killin' myself," Ralph said, adjusting his cap. "I woulda jumped off a bridge long ago if it wasn't for 'em. I got two; a big brother and a little sister."

The surgeon didn't offer a direct reply. He wasn't sure how serious he was being. "…My father owned a bakery," he said, changing the subject.

"No kiddin'?"

"He certainly did. I used to help my parents out after school when I grew a little older."

"What kinda bakery? Like, breads and stuff, or more like cakes?" Ralph furthered.

"Everything. He baked breads and rolls and he also made desserts and wedding cakes. Those were his specialty. My father was very artistic. It's clear where I got my talent from."

"I take it you didn't exactly go into the family business, eh?"

"Not quite," chuckled John.

"What'd they say when you told 'em you wanted to be a doc?"

"They were a bit let-down that I didn't want to take up the family business, but, they were also impressed with my interest in medical school."

"Did you always wanna be a surgeon?" the worker asked.

"Well, I suppose so. I was on the fence with regards to what field for a long time, but, I always knew I wanted to go to medical school. I remember looking at medical journals and books and being absolutely fascinated by them. Especially reading about how they treated soldiers during World War I, how surgery in field hospitals was carried out, and the innovations compared to the Civil War. I found a manuscript published by Sir Harold Gillies who was perhaps the father of plastic surgery. The facial reconstructions he did on wounded soldiers were genius! He was my role model for a time, when I began veering towards reconstructive surgery."

"Ugh, sounds like gory stuff, to me," grimaced Barsetti.

"You don't handle blood very well?"

"I showed you this, didn't I?" He brought his left hand from his pocket, displaying it for the surgeon, the one with the missing ring finger.

"…Oh. What happened?"

Ralph took a moment or two to answer, staring down listlessly at his hand. "…It got chewed off in a machine at a factory I was workin' at when I was sixteen. Don't got any feelin' in this hand either. Not until about…" He pointed to his mid-wrist. "Like about right here. I also saw some nasty stuff durin' the war, too."

"You were drafted?"

"…Yeah, sorta. I joined the Navy. You weren't?"

"…No, I wasn't in the armed forces. I'm not a soldier, I'm a surgeon. I did work on a quite a few soldiers after the war, though."

"You're lucky," Ralph chuckled, smiling. He became serious again. "…I uh…still have some bad blood when it comes to Germans."

Steinman looked up at him, looking a bit wary, defensive. "You don't have any animosity towards me, now that I've told you, do you?"

"Oh, no! No, definitely not you, but…well, technically, you ain't German. You're American."

Steinman hated people who said "ain't" or used dialects that bastardised the English language. And he'd been listening to it all evening. "…True." He paused for a moment. "Those weren't even real Germans, you know."

"'Real' Germans? Whaddaya mean? A Kraut is a Kraut—"

"_What I meant was_, real Germans are hard workers, traditional, and a bit stubborn, like my father, not phony, tyrannical fascists like what you're familiar with. Besides, Adolf Hitler was born in Austria."

"Aren't they like the same thing?"

"They're very different, actually," corrected the surgeon, frustration in his tone. "I've been accustom to thinking all Italians are associated with the Mafia."

Ralph shrugged. "It's true. I ain't gonna fight that."

Steinman raised an eyebrow.

"Every wop kid I knew back home was either involved in or had a family member in the mob. Everyone from Sicily, at least. That's where the Mafia started. Couple Micks, too, but that was more Boston and New York."

"…My parents were lovely, honest people. They hated the state of their country during the war. I'm sure they bought more war bonds than any other American couple. My father would listen to the radio every night and whenever the Nazis were mentioned, he'd shout and slam his fist down on it. He was always saying what a fool Hitler was and how he hated Austrians."

Ralph chuckled, his eyes softening. "So…d'ya get your good looks from mommy or daddy?"

John blushed furiously, abandoning his frustration. "I've been told that I look like my father. We have the same facial structure."

"You'd know a lot about that."

"I would," agreed the doctor. "Here—" Steinman pulled out his wallet, choosing a photo. Ralph saw that it was of him and his parents. He was dressed in a suit and a pair of glasses, standing between his mother and father. The surgeon was right; he looked very much like the latter, the only major difference being the full beard his father had.

"You gotta wear your specs all the time?" enquired Ralph.

"No, not all the time. Only for reading," he answered, tucking the photo away.

"Do ya need 'em when you do surgery?"

"No. I have a magnifying headpiece that I wear, when I need to do precise work. I'm near-sighted, so, it doesn't really affect my work."

"With or without, you're still a real cutie. Honest."

"…Thank you," Steinman said, blushing once more. He tucked the photo away as the bathysphere ground into the docking station. "Ah, perfect timing," the surgeon smiled, looking at the door as it began to pull apart.

"We close?" Barsetti asked.

"Yes, just up here." He led him up a small flight of stairs and then hung a left, towards the entrance straight down the tunnel.

"Here, 'scuse me," Ralph said. He gently took a hold of Steinman's waist, moving him to the right and taking his place on the left, along the tram side.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well…if we were on the surface, a gentleman would walk on the outside of the sidewalk, you know, by the traffic and puddles and stuff." He gestured to the tracks. "Sorry, I guess it's just a habit. I used to do it with my sister and my ma."

The surgeon smiled kindly up at him. "…That's sweet. I hope you're not insinuating that I'm a woman, though."

"No, no! I um, well…I did ask _you_, though. On a date. I just, I guess…oh, geez."

Steinman laughed lightly. "I think I know what you mean."

"…If I may, Doc…you gotta really slender waist. It's nice and uh…it's nice. It's uh, perfect for…puttin' hands on."

"Aw, you're nervous," chuckled Steinman.

"Shit yeah, I am! I mean, um, yeah, I am. I can't believe I made it _this_ far. How d'ya keep in such good shape?"

"I should be asking _you _that. Well, I eat right, I exercise."

"Oh? You do any benchin'?"

"I have before."

"How much can you lift?"

"I don't think so. You'll laugh at me, a brute like you."

"I won't laugh atcha, I promise."

"…No, no, I won't."

"Fine, suit yourself," chuckled Ralph.

The workers at the gates of Arcadia were uneasy about Barsetti's presence. It drove him to wonder whether or not they didn't take to him because of his social class or whether they somehow knew he worked for Fontaine. Fortunately, Steinman got him inside without a problem. Ralph gave a low whistle as they entered.

"Trees underwater…unbelievable," he chuckled.

"I've met Professor Langford. She's a bit on the eccentric side, but, her work is nothing short of brilliant," John commented.

"It's way over my head. I'm dumb as a post. That's why I'm a dockhand."

"What exactly do you do at the docks, Mr. Barsetti?"

Ralph smiled. "Please, call me Ralph. 'Mr. Barsetti' was my _nonno_."

"Come again?"

"_Nonno_. It's Italian for 'grandpa'."

"Oh. Alright then…Ralph…what do you do at the docks?"

"I'm a stevedore. I'm usually loadin' and liftin' cargo, 'cause I'm such a bear. Occasionally, I'll get assigned a fish-guttin' job or two. I did to-day, that's why I smelled so bad at your office."

"I didn't notice," Steinman said somewhat distantly, reaching out and touching the end leaf of a drooping willow branch as they passed underneath.

"What about you? This is probably a loaded question, but, what kinds of things do you do as a doctor?"

"Well, I'm not a physician, per se. I'm a surgeon. I work mainly in the fields of plastic, maxillofacial, and reconstructive. I did, however, begin my career in orthopaedic surgery."

"Pardon _me_," Ralph chuckled, adjusting his cap.

"I deal mainly with reconstructive surgery, now. Things like implanting, reshaping, resizing, removing. Some of the side-effects of ADAM over-use cause benign, tumour-like growths. Many people come in to have those removed."

"Sounds heavy."

"Probably not as heavy as the things you lift at work."

Both men had to laugh at this.

"Much of this becomes routine after a few times. But, you still have to take into consideration that everyone is built differently."

"I couldn't handle surgery or anything like that," Ralph said, pulling his packet of cigarettes from a pocket inside his jacket. "Take a seat?" he enquired, gesturing to an area off to their right.

"Sure." He frowned lightly at the cigarette attached to his friend's lip. "I hope you're not planning on smoking here."

"I ain't gonna burn the place down."

"There are signs everywhere that say 'No Smoking'."

"Eh, I ain't much of a sign-follower."

They lowered down next to each other.

"I take it you're not into this poison?" Ralph asked, flicking open his lighter.

"No, I never have been. What kind of example would that set for my patients?"

"I thought you said you weren't a 'doctor' doctor?"

"True, but I still work in the Medical Pavilion."

Ralph shrugged. "Guess you got me there." He sighed. "I been smokin' for…too long. I really should quit, but, it helps the stress."

"Stress?"

"Yeah. I'm worried a lot. Don't even know about what, most of the time. It gives me belly-aches sometimes. Smokin' gives me somethin' to take my mind off, well…everything."

"Sounds like you might have an anxiety disorder."

"…Eh."

"I know someone who works in the psychiatric wing of the Medical Pavilion. Would you like to talk to him sometime?"

Ralph sneered. "You mean like lyin' on a couch and tellin' him about my childhood?"

"Not if you don't want to. I'm sure he'd just ask you the nature of your life and your symptoms and he could probably diagnose you right there. He's very good."

The worker looked contemplative as he studied his cigarette. "…Maybe. I guess. I don't wanna live my life like this anymore."

"I'll talk to him on my lunch hour to-morrow," promised Steinman.

"That's swell, thanks," Ralph smiled. They kept to themselves for a moment or two, before the burly worker interrupted. "You sit so straight, John. And you keep your hands to yourself."

"…Where would you like my hands to be?" John questioned cheekily. Barsetti laughed out loud.

"I'm not even gonna touch that one."

"Oh, you're not?"

"Stop it! You don't know what you're doin' to me."

"I think I have some idea. I pride myself in having good posture. I was always told that in my youth. You're very relaxed, aren't you?"

Ralph was sitting informally, leaning more to his right, his right hand on his knee. He chuckled.

"Actually…sometimes I sit with one of my legs crossed over the other. But usually only when I'm alone. One of my buddies at the docks said I looked like a girl when I sit that way."

"May I ask you something, Ralph?"

"Ask me anything, John."

"When did you know you were homosexual?"

"When I was born." Ralph spat a wad of saliva at a patch of grass. "I've always been a faerie. I just always loved cock, even when I was a kid. When I was real young, I used to ask other boys to show me theirs…and they usually did. It would get me all excited. When did _you_ know?"

"Well, I suppose it was always obvious, when I look back at my childhood, but…I'd say I was about fifteen, sixteen years when I finally recognised that I was sexually attracted to males. When kids begin dating and such."

"Those guys didn't know what they were missin'."

"You're very flattering, Ralph. You certainly like to compliment."

He shrugged. "Hey, I calls 'em as I sees 'em."

"Do you really think my pictures are handsome?"

"Well, personally, I like the real thing better."

"If this is true, how come it took you so long to come down and see me?" John furthered.

Ralph smiled, chuckling lightly. "Do you know how long it took to gather up the courage to do so? For the longest time, I never thought a mug like me would stand a chance with someone like you. I tried to give it up, tried to tell myself that I wasn't good enough for one of the best surgeons in Rapture, but…obviously, that plan didn't stick."

Steinman licked his lips, moving in a little closer.

"Now let me ask you this…how did _you_ know _I_ was homosexual?"

"I took a chance, man," laughed Ralph. "And even if you weren't…I was determined to _make ya_."

There was something in Ralph's tone when he answered, something slightly carnal and hungry, that aroused the surgeon a bit. He sat up a bit straighter, peering out over his glasses.

"…Oh? Am I obvious?"

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Well, I know you were fooled, but, do you think it's obvious to tell that I'm homosexual? I don't act typically feminine, do I?"

"Well…" Ralph began playfully.

Steinman pushed his shoulder. "You're supposed to say 'no, Dr. Steinman'."

"Hey now! I dunno. This is only our first night together. But I don't know too many regular guys who are as handsome as the queer ones."

The surgeon flushed lightly.

"You really are attractive, Doc. You're definitely a looker," the stevedore complimented, inching closer.

"…I _have_ had a few people tell me that, men and women…but I don't know how many truly meant it."

"I mean it."

"I know you do." John moved just a bit closer. "Well, you certainly don't have to worry about my sexuality. I've questioned myself many times, but, I'm convinced I've been this way my whole life. And you're half-way there with regards to my attention; I think your physique is marvelous."

"I thought you said you were terrified of me? You looked it when you first saw me."

"Well, I was. I haven't seen too many men built like you. How much can _you_ lift?"

"I've benched about three fifteen, three twenty."

"Oh, wow…" the doctor smiled, becoming more interested.

"But, that was back in the…in Chicago…when I was liftin' every day. I don't know if I could still do it now."

"So that was without plasmids?" John said.

"Yeah, man. I don't do that sh—stuff. You use 'em?"

John shrugged. "No, but, I've been studying ADAM a lot lately."

"Oh?"

"Yes! I've started a regiment last month. A small dose once a week. I use it to sustain my er…being handsome. I've already gotten compliments. It really is a remarkable substance. I've found a way to utilise it in the workplace. It makes surgery so much easier," he said. The big dockhand smiled, smearing his cigarette butt on a stone and pitching it into a trash receptacle. He turned to Steinman.

"If I may say so, John…you don't need all that. You're handsome as you are, and it's gonna take a lot…and I mean _a lot_…to make you ugly."

The doctor grinned. "How sweet, Ralph."

"It's true," shrugged the worker. He smiled. "I bet you're thinkin' about everything you could do to me to make me handsome, though. I know I'm an ugly git."

"No, actually," Steinman said distantly, staring up into Ralph's eyes. "I said I thought your exterior was attractive."

"You meant my body. Someone's body and their face are two different things."

"Well, I meant both. You're very rugged and masculine, like John Wayne or Humphrey Bogart."

"Never heard _that_ one before…"

"I mean it."

"Well, that's good to hear."

There was a small pause as they both took in the beauty of the vegetation around them and the pleasure of the company.

"So, you havin' a good time so far?"

"I can't think of anything else I'd rather be doing."

"Glad to hear it, Doc. Glad to hear it."

They both watched fondly through the treetops as a whale passed above the arboretum. Ralph slid his hand over until it covered John's. The surgeon gently pulled it away, holding it to his chest.

"Oh, sorry," the dockhand apologised.

"…Careful where you abide," John replied, but with a smile. "Would you like to go to the Tea Garden, Ralph?"

"Tea garden? I dunno. Sounds a bit…fruity, for me."

Steinman gave him a look. "You're here on a _date_ with me and you're worried about looking 'fruity'?"

"Well, you know what I mean."

"…No. Not really. Come. It's nice," concluded the doctor, rising from the bench and heading off. Ralph had little choice but to follow him.

The garden was serene and secluded, the ideal spot for lovers when Arcadia wasn't crowded. They sat up close to each other in a partially hidden alcove.

"So…masculine enough for you?"

Barsetti shrugged. "It ain't bad. I've always kinda liked flowers and stuff. Got a couple tattooed on my body."

_Perfect…he's got more. Guess I should have suspected that_, Steinman thought to himself, rolling his eyes.

"You know…it's been almost a decade since I've been out on a date, per se."

"Why so long?"

Steinman shrugged. "Because I really don't need anybody. I can plan my schedule around myself only, one less person I have to worry about, besides…I know what I like, and how I like it," he grinned, holding up his hand. "It's good enough for me."

Ralph stared at him hard, turning over what Fontaine had warned him of in his head. "…I don't think you really believe all that."

"Hm?"

"I said, I don't think you believe all that. That, 'you're better off alone' stuff. I mean, it's good that you're comfortable with yourself and you obviously ain't one of those types who needs to be in a relationship all the time, but…I think you're anxious for a partner."

The plastic surgeon narrowed his eyes slightly, tilting his head with suspicion. "…And how do you know all this?"

Ralph shrugged his shoulders with a grin. "Easy…I don't."

Steinman blinked.

"It's just what you come off as. Dames like to talk and tell you all sorts of stuff, but guys…guys talk with their eyes. Not only are yours really pretty, they're easy to read. Hang on a sec, I'll be right back. Gotta empty a leg."

The big stevedore hefted his bulk from the bench. John watched his back, adjusting his suit nervously, his face a bit pink.

They returned to John's apartment later that night, having thoroughly enjoyed the evening together, sharing many casual, and some intimate, conversations.

"Home again, home again," Ralph said, touching his cap.

"So I am. It's amazing how much time flies…when you're enjoying yourself," John nodded.

"So you did have a nice time?"

"…I did. I've been very busy and it was nice to just get out. It was very nice getting to know you, as well. I'll admit I was pretty intimidated by and a bit disdainful of you when I first saw you, but…now I'm glad we're acquainted."

"Good to hear," Ralph nodded. He reached up, but pulled his hand back almost as quickly. "Uh, you mind if I touch ya? Not in a sexy way, just, in a nice way, ya know?"

"…Touch me where?"

"Just your cheek."

"…I suppose not."

Barsetti reached up once more. He stroked the side of John's face gently, feeling his cheek grow a bit warmer.

"You know, I guess I don't really gotta reason to hate ya because you're German, or Germans period. After all, the Italians were on their side…and they both had crazy dictators."

"If anything…I think it would unite us a little more," the surgeon added.

"I like the way you think," agreed Ralph, chucking his chin. "…You're cute. Wanna do this again sometime?"

"I'm free to-morrow after seven."

Ralph grimaced. "I'm workin' 'til ten to-morrow."

John shrugged. "Come on over after. You have my address, after all."

"I'll do so." He leaned in, but John pulled away.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Um…tryin' to give ya a kiss?"

"Don't you think you're getting a bit ahead of yourself?"

"Sorry. I didn't know if you were…" A beat. "…I'm sorry."

"Hmph." Steinman tugged defiantly on the ends of his suit-coat.

"Not a hussy, eh?" Barsetti said, stepping back.

"We just met!"

"Hey, you don't need an excuse. You don't wanna, you don't gotta."

"Thanks."

"So, uh…see ya to-morrow, then?"

"Only if you promise not to do that again."

"Look, I said I was sorry. I just like ya, is all. I can't help it."

The surgeon slipped his hands into his pockets, looking at the elaborate carpeting in the hallway.

"…So, you wanna see me again or not?"

Steinman nodded. "Yes. I er…I actually do."

"So, you ain't mad at me?"

If he heard that infernal "ain't" one more time…

"…No, no _I am not_ mad at you."

"Why you talkin' like that?"

"'Ain't' isn't a word. I can't stand it in the least and you've been saying it all night."

"Psh, sor-ry. This is how all the people I ever been around talked. I don't wanna leave on a sour note. I had a really nice time with you."

"…As did I."

"Well, that's all that matters, then."

Steinman didn't say anything.

"Until then," said the dockhand, tipping his cap.

"…Until then."

After his first date with Steinman, Barsetti went directly to Fontaine.

"I didn't get much, but I found out that Arcadia ain't completely open to the public no more. Most gotta pay to get in. This is probably Ryan's doin'," he relayed.

"And he took you to Arcadia? Aw…how cute," Fontaine laughed.

"Eh."

"Nothin' too big, but, it's a start. Lets me know you're doin' your job. Good, Barsetti. Gonna see him any time soon?"

"We're on for to-morrow. It might take a while, though. He ain't gonna be so easy to win-over."

"S'ee playin' hard to get?"

"Big time."

"Do what ya can. See if you can get anything more. You're done for the night. Go on, get outta here," Fontaine said somewhat playfully, shooing him out with his cigar.

"Thanks, boss," Ralph said, turning.


	3. Phase 3

Phase 3-April, 1958

Barsetti was thankful when he was finally released from the docks; he had been working for nearly fourteen hours straight. He made his way to the Hera's Arms as quickly as he could. Ralph was a bit worried that Steinman had gone to bed, and his arrival would wake him. However, John seemed like a man who kept his word; he only hoped he was a good judge of character.

The doctor was at the door the instant he heard the knock. "Good evening, Ralph. I thought that you'd forgotten about me."

"Forget about you? I thought you forgot about _me_! I figured you'd be in bed by now," Barsetti smiled, removing his cap.

"Well, I should be, but…I wanted to see you again."

"No kiddin'?"

"No kidding."

Ralph reached up; John pulled away once more.

"I'm just gonna…" the dockhand chucked his chin gently with a smile. "You have a pretty face and you're not for kissin', so—"

"Oh, I definitely like kissing. We just met, is all."

"Fair enough. Well, I could never forget aboutcha," Barsetti smiled. John took his cap from him, hanging it on the coat rack.

"Here, I'll take your jacket, too."

"Eh, I better handle this. It might stink."

"Well, if you insist. You must be starving after working all day. Here, I made a bigger roast because I knew you were coming over," the surgeon said over his shoulder as he headed towards the oven.

"You didn't have to do that, John."

"I know I didn't _have_ to. I don't have to do anything. I wanted to," he replied, pulling on a pair of oven mitts. "I made you a bigger plate. I just assumed you had an equally big appetite. Take a seat at the table there."

"Yeah, I eat like a horse." Ralph sat down, pulling his chair in as John served him. "You ain't seen nothin' yet."

"Al Jolson?"

"Huh?"

"Al Jolson said that in 'The Jazz Singer'. The first line spoken in the first talking film? Actually, he said 'you ain't _heard_ nothin' yet'…"

Judging by the blank look on Ralph's face, John deduced that he didn't have a clue what he was talking about.

"…I'll get you a fork and knife. Would you like something to drink? I had a glass of Chardonnay earlier, would you like some?"

"Eh, I'm not much of a wine drinker. I'm an ale man, myself. Occasional whiskey—" before he had said any more, Steinman appeared from behind the refrigerator door. He cracked a new bottle of Ryan's Club Ale.

"Service with a smile," he said, setting it by his plate.

"You don't seem like an ale man, to me."

"There's still plenty you don't know about me," Steinman said, settling into a chair next to him. "Don't keep me waiting! Try it, tell me what you think."

Ralph shrugged, loading up his fork with a hefty piece. He chewed for only a few seconds, leaning back in his chair. "…Whoa."

"Is something wrong? Did I let it sit too long?"

"No way, man…this is incredible! You were right; you're an amazing cook!" laughed Ralph, hurriedly digging in. "You make this up or this from a book?"

"Well, I found a recipe in a book, but, I added or replaced a few things to make it my own."

"Man, I don't know what's better: the plastic surgery you do or the food you make."

"Oh, stop!"

"Hey, I calls 'em as I sees 'em," Barsetti said. John smiled fondly. He reached for one of Ralph's forearms, but stopped short. The dockhand chuckled. "You can touch it. Don't worry, it won't hurt ya." The doctor's hand alighted on Ralph's arm. He gently squeezed it, testing its strength. Barsetti swallowed, placing his fork on the plate. "Here…" he said, rolling up his sleeve. He gripped his wrist with his opposite hand, flexing. The first thing John saw was a massive forearm covered in black and grey Celtic knot tattoos. All along his arm, veins bulged from underneath his skin, lightly stretching another tattoo of a spider web around his elbow.

"…Oh, wow…" Steinman breathed.

"Go on, touch anything you like. You ain't gonna smear the ink."

The surgeon's hand ran up his forearm, over his triceps, and around to his massive bicep. He felt Ralph flex his arm a little bit more, tightening the already hardened muscles. His face burned bright red.

"Hey, lookit you. What're you so shy about?"

"I've never met…or touched…a man like you."

"Damned right you haven't," Ralph said, releasing his wrist and continuing eating.

"For your Irish side?" John asked, tapping the knots.

"Yep. And my Italian side." Ralph rolled up his opposite sleeve, revealing bold black letters that spelled out _Famiglia_ with the names Nina, Adelaide, and Tony in cursive wrapping around his forearm.

"Who are they?"

"My ma, my little sister, and my big brother." He pulled his sleeve up farther, revealing a family crest on his bicep. "That's her side. I was always real close with them. Always had lots of cousins to play with and aunts and uncles."

"Not your father?"

"…No. He don't deserve to be permanently written on my body."

"I see. Does the spider web mean anything?"

Ralph studied his arm closely. "Eh, I almost forgot about that one."

"You have more?"

Barsetti laughed. "You ain't seen nothin' yet. I'm covered. You seen these," he said, holding up both fists. On his right, the word BRAWL was tattooed on his knuckles. On his left were the four card suits. Without another word, the worker set to remove his sweater. He stopped halfway, his eyes returning to his host's. "Uh, you mind?"

"Not in the least."

"Alright." He pulled it off, revealing more art than the doctor wanted. His left elbow up to his neck was covered in strangely drawn birds and animals. There was something large and black on his chest, but it was obscured by a lightly stained undershirt. Steinman squirmed in his chair as he gaped at the other man's toned upper body.

"Takin' a load off your eyes?" chuckled Ralph.

The surgeon immediately shielded them, focusing on the napkin holder at the centre of the table. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare, I—"

"Hey, man, I don't care. I'm actually a bit flattered. Here, want me to do muscle-man poses for ya? Or will ya drool all over this nice table?"

"I just might flood the place…" muttered the doctor, averting his eyes once more. He moved closer, keeping his eyes fixed on the tattoos. "These look familiar."

"They're Indian animals. Like the ones the Eskimos draw," Barsetti explained.

"That's why I recognised them," nodded the surgeon. "They looked of Native origin."

"Yeah, I thought they looked neat. Like my ink?"

Steinman grimaced. "I've never liked tattoos, to be completely honest."

"…Oh." Ralph averted his eyes, visibly let down.

"But I will admit, I do find the stories behind them interesting…most of the time. What was the web for, again?"

"Um…did I tell ya this roast is amazing?"

"Ralph, you're avoiding my question."

"What question?"

Steinman frowned. "If you're going to keep things from me, I can already tell you any sort of relationship will never work."

"It's nothin', okay? It's just a spider web. Supposed to make me look tough."

"You wouldn't be avoiding me so if that was true. I've seen them on men before…men less couth than you. It must have a meaning. And I'm telling you, I don't further my relationships with men who aren't honest."

Ralph sighed deeply, putting down his fork. "…You sure you wanna know?"

"I do."

They sat in silence for a moment or two.

"…Depending on how many lines there are, it's how much time you've done in the…Big House."

"Oh," stated Steinman. "…So you've been in prison."

"…See why I didn't wanna tell ya?"

John didn't speak for a long time. It made Ralph very anxious.

"…How long?"

"About three years. My sentence was ten."

"…What'd you do?"

"It wasn't anything. I just…" Barsetti sighed a second time. "…I sorta…shot and killed a cop."

The doctor stared at his guest with wide, hurt eyes. "…So you've killed someone. In cold blood."

"I didn't mean for it to happen! I felt awful about it, I _still_ feel awful about it. I never wanted it to be like that, it's just…" he growled to himself, digging his hands through his short hair. "Look, can I tell ya a few things? A few kinda personal things? I guess I gotta explain myself now. You should know the truth if we're gonna be—"

John cleared his throat softly, averting his eyes.

"…If we're gonna be friends."

"I think perhaps you should, Ralph," John agreed.

"Do you mind if we sit on the sofa? My back's killin' me from workin'. I had a fourteen hour shift to-day."

"That's alright."

They adjourned together, sitting side-by-side on the comfy cushions. Ralph sighed again, staring down into

John's eyes.

"Look…what I'm about to tell ya may change your opinion of me. But, I think you should know a few things."

"…Go ahead, Ralph."

"I was born into a dirt-poor family. My pop was a drunk. He couldn't keep a job and he liked to beat me and my brother, but worst of all, he was rough on my ma and my sister. I hated him for it. I still do; I always will. My dad would make me and my siblings go out and steal from vendors and stores 'cuz we couldn't afford too much. We even lived out two seasons in an alleyway in boxes and a tent my old man made from some sheets we took from someone's laundry. Stealin' and fightin' became a way of life for me. Eventually, my ma took us and left him. I think it was one of the best choices she probably ever made. Things got a little bit better without him, but ma was way overworked. She had three jobs and tried to take care of us all. I dropped outta school to take a job in a factory when I was a little older to, ya know, help her out. That's when I lost my finger," he brought his hand around. "I showed you. Because I'm Italian, well Irish too, but because of that, when I got older, I sorta found my way into the mob. Yeah, that's right…I was a mobster. They promised me they'd take care of my family if I did jobs for 'em. It was really good money and the protection was nice. I told them I'd do the highest-paying job they had, so I could put the money towards helpin' my family out. They really respected that. I even bought my sister her prom dress…she looked so pretty."

"What did you do?" Steinman asked.

"…I was a drug mule. I smuggled and sold all kinds of shit, mainly coke, reefer, and heroin."

"Did you ever take—"

"No. I never done any a' that shit. Ever. I had to sell it to people and I saw what it did to 'em. I never wanted to end up like that. Well, the cops were tailin' us on a job around five in the mornin'. I was one of the lead-heads in the back seat. They were yellin' at me to shoot at 'em, but I learned at a young age not to fuck with the police. I'd shot mobsters from other gangs, but never at the police. I was more worried about the bosses than the screws. In the mob, you learn that the only man you have to fear is the boss, and you learn it quick. One of the other guys kicked open the back door and fired on 'em. Another screwed his pistol in my ear and told me to follow suit or he'd shoot me himself. That got me a bit motivated. I didn't want to, but I raised the barrel and let a few slugs out." He paused again, staring hard at the wall. "…A couple of 'em hit the cop ridin' shotgun…and they killed him." The big dockhand wiped tears from his eyes, trying his best to hold in his emotion. Steinman reached into his back pocket, pulling out a handkerchief, which he handed to his friend. "It was one of the worst feelin's I ever had. Sittin' there with that smokin' barrel in your hand, watchin' an honest workin' man drop dead, his blood all over the windshield and the street. I couldn't talk, couldn't think…couldn't move."

"…Jesus…" Steinman whispered.

"The cops got us before we got to the place, though. The other guys pinned the whole thing on me; they didn't waste no time in tellin' 'em that I was the one who killed their man. I couldn't afford no lawyer, so they just hired some guy to represent me. He didn't like me, I could tell. I guess I couldn't blame him." Ralph lowered his head, burying his face into one of his large hands. "…They told me at my court date that he had a wife and two kids. That made me feel so much worse…because I knew what it was like to have family to take care of and provide for." John touched his friend's shoulder gently. "…The jury voted twelve to nothin' I was guilty. I was sentenced to ten years. I was twenty-one and in prison for drug traffickin' and killin' a man." He chuckled uneasily, wiping tears from his eyes. "I betcha never woulda guessed I had this much baggage, eh?"

The doctor gently took one of his hands in his. "I don't think you should be held accountable for your childhood. You couldn't help any of that."

"And what about later?"

"…Organised crime?"

"There wasn't much more a chump like me could do. I'm not smart, I didn't have no talents, I didn't have much money. It's true, John. I been a loser all my life."

Steinman sighed, looking over to the kitchen sink. "…Listen. Why don't you go sit out on the balcony for a bit? Get some air? I have to do the dishes, anyway. I think you need a moment to yourself," he suggested, rubbing Ralph's large shoulder. "Take a few deep breaths, try to calm down a bit. I'll be out as soon as I'm finished."

"…Yeah…yeah, okay. I need a cigarette, anyway."

John patted his hand gently as he stood, lumbering around the coffee table and the loveseat. The surgeon sighed, standing as well. He took a vinyl apron hanging by the refrigerator and began work at the sink, pulling on a pair of gloves.

"Prison time for drug trafficking and murder…" here, he sighed. "…What are you getting yourself into, John?" He took up a pan, scrubbing it roughly. "Sander's going to have a field-day with this if he ever finds out. I'll never hear the end of it." His mood turned slowly to frustration as he thought about the flak he'd receive from his inner circle if his relationship with Barsetti got serious. "It's hard enough being homosexual…then you find out the man you're seeing has a criminal record." The surgeon halted in his cleaning, leaning against the counter. "…I just hope Ryan is okay with all of this. That's the last thing I need: to be shunned by one of my best friends…not to mention the richest man in Rapture."

He moved on to the glassware as his mind switched gears. "But I'd really like to get to know him better. He seems nice enough and I do truly think he's sorry for what he's done. It takes a lot to make a man that size cry." John thought more about his size. "…His size…okay, I'll admit it. I'd love for him to bed me. But it's too soon, much too soon. We haven't even kissed yet. But it's also been too long since I've done so. Not since I lived on the surface." He sighed as he placed a few glasses on the drying rack. "You were good to me, Richard, very good…but I needed a bit more. Something that neither you, nor the surface, could give me."

Steinman stared hard at his reflection in a dish as he brought it from under the soapy water. "The worst part is…he's really growing on me. Even though he's a brute, a dockworker, criminal, call it what you will…there's just something about him that I'm so…drawn to." He lowered the plate, staring now at his reflection in the intricate glass and mahogany cabinetry above the sink. "I can turn circus freaks into things you can show in the daylight…why can't I fix _him_? I've created dozens of physical beauties, why can't I create a mental and spiritual one?" The doctor stared triumphantly at the hallway to the balcony, grinning with pride. "Ralph Barsetti…you're my next patient, my next creation."

Barsetti watched the people wining and dining from the balcony. It seemed a party or other social event was breaking up in a tall building across from the apartment complex. He could see motion and people in masquerade masks conversing behind the windows. Ralph sighed deeply, staring at his worn boots. He nudged the end of his cigarette with his tongue, causing it to bob on his lip. The worker gently pushed the sliding glass door open a crack, listening. Dishes, pots, and glasses could be heard faintly, clinking in the basin. Ralph shook his head, shutting the door.

"…Fontaine's gonna be pissed. The second date and I blow it." He wondered if John really had altered his opinion of him. He'd already sent him into an informal time-out; then again, he needed a moment, definitely a cigarette. Ralph hoped dearly that Steinman would want to see him again after that night. Regardless of whether or not he got closer to info on Ryan, he wanted to get him in bed; it had been a long time since he'd gotten laid.

"Posh bastard. Why the fuck did Fontaine think that someone like Steinman would ever be attracted to one of us? Hell, look at this fuckin' apartment…look at this fuckin' neighbourhood. He's talented, smart, successful, and people like him. I'm no different down here than I was on the surface." He looked up, watching a school of fish pass by over the enclosed balcony. "Well…okay, that's not true. I've never held a job this long. It sucks, but it pays. Steinman and Fontaine are also the only ones that know about my record. Eh, and he won't even kiss me. Goes to show." Ralph sighed, picking up a small statue of the Greek goddess Aphrodite, which had been sitting on the small table. He sneered lightly, setting it back down. "I want some cock, dammit! I don't know many other fags down here." Ralph leaned on the railing, staring out at the city. "Eh, maybe that's a lie, too. I like his face, actually. A lot. Like, really a lot. And, I like how patient he is with me. And how he listens to me—" Barsetti took a final drag on his cigarette, staring at the bum when he was finished. "Shit…I better not fall in love with him. Then I'll be fucked. And not the way I wanna be. I got an assignment. I'm here to do a job."

He flicked the cigarette butt over the railing. Almost on cue, John slid back the door, leaning on the frame.

"…How are you doing?" he enquired.

"…Better," sighed Ralph, smoothing his hair down.

The surgeon studied one of the many plants on the balcony. He reached up towards one hanging on the left eave, touching the soil.

"Hm…seems a bit dry. I'll only be a moment," he said, lifting a watering can from behind Ralph and disappearing back inside. The worker stared at the green plant, wondering how he could even tell. John returned momentarily, watering can in hand. He carefully gave his plant a drink, talking softly to it the whole time. Ralph watched him curiously. He thought the way the doctor treated it as if it were another person was somehow…cute. It forced a weak smile from Ralph's lips. When all was done, Steinman reached down, placing a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. Barsetti took a loose hold of his wrist, staring back to the party.

"S'there some kinda shindig goin' on over there or somethin'?"

"Might be one of the weekly masquerades they have over at the Gin Goint. They usually have them on weekends," he answered, massaging Ralph's trapezius muscle softly.

"You ever go to 'em?"

"No. I don't associate with the kinds of people who attend them. I'd rather just stay at home or walk in Arcadia or read."

"I ain't much of a party-goer. Not that I ever get invited to 'em or anything, though. On weekends or my nights off, I;m usually down at the bar shootin' pool or somethin'. I play a mean game of pool."

"I used to be able to, but, it's been a while since I've played."

"No kiddin'?"

"No kidding," echoed John. "Believe it or not, I used to hustle men in med school. I didn't exactly look like I knew how to play, so, I used it to my advantage."

"No way!"

"It's true." He squeezed the stevedore's shoulder, taking his hand away when Ralph looked up. "Sorry! Er, I didn't mean to—"

"I was only gonna ask ya if you'd do the other one too. Feels real good after the day I've had. I'll do yours after, if ya want."

The surgeon's face reddened. "Er…okay. I'll definitely let you." His other hand found its way to Barsetti's broad shoulder. He went rigid when the burly worker leaned back against him, pinning him to the wall. He craned his neck, looking up at him.

"Sorry! Didn't mean to pin ya."

John smiled. "It's okay."

"Here," Ralph suggested. He stood, moving the chair around. He sat informally, resting his arms. "There. Now I won't crush ya. I got somethin' to lean on."

"You can lean on me, Ralph."

"You sure? I'm pretty big."

Steinman shrugged bashfully. "I think I can manage." He pulled up the other chair, positioning himself behind his friend. Ralph groaned with relief as John worked on his shoulders.

"Man…then sends me. Could ya go a little lower, though?"

"Closer to your lumbar?"

"Uh…?"

"The lower back."

"Oh, yeah. That's where I need it. But really get in there…yeah, like that! Really get your thumbs and palms down in there…yeah…" sighed Barsetti.

"You feel tense, Ralph."

"_You_ try tellin' the guy you gotta mad crush on you're an ex-mobster and and a jailbird and see how _you_ feel," Barsetti said softly, turning his head.

Steinman smiled, patting one of his broad shoulders reassuringly. "I have a friend in chiropractics. Would you like me to set up an appointment with him?"

"…Nah, I'm comfy here," replied the dockhand, smiling.

"By the way, I talked to Dr. Brandt to-day. He said he'd be happy to help you if you still want to talk to him."

"Who?"

"The psychiatrist I told you about?"

"Oh, right. Uh, sure. Tell him to throw me some dates and I'll see when I'm workin'."

"He said he's got an opening this coming Tuesday, at four, and on Wednesday at eleven in the morning."

"Uh, do you think he'd do a noon-ish on Wednesday? That's when my lunch hour begins."

"I'll ask him."

"Gee, thanks, Doc."

"You're welcome."

The doctor massaged him for a long time. Ralph had nearly fallen asleep, wrapped in the comfort and relief he felt with the other man's hands on him. He couldn't quite recall the last time he'd felt so relaxed. It was easy to tell Steinman was a surgeon, and a skilled surgeon; he was very good with his hands. The way they kneaded the flesh of the worker's back sent him reeling. The carnal lust percolating inside him was almost unbearable; he wanted the doctor more than anything.

Steinman also relished their physicality. It hadn't been since he lived on the surface that he'd gotten intimate with another man. There was that one musician who had made passes at him all night during a get-together at Sander Cohen's place, but he was wary. He just assumed any relationship with an artist would somehow catch the attention of the headlines; he wanted to make damn sure no one knew of his sexuality.

Lifting his head, Ralph looked upwards.

"…John?"

"Good. You're still awake. I thought you'd fallen asleep on me."

"…Oh, I uh…um…" Steinman's smile was so disarmingly handsome, Ralph had difficulty getting his words out immediately.

"It's impolite to stare, you know…" the doctor said, putting just an edge of sensuality in his words.

"…C-Can I tell you somethin'?"

"Tell me anything, Ralph."

The dockhand turned around, reaching up and rubbing his friend's upper arm. "…I really, really like you."

"So you've told me…and told me…"

"I know, but…you're the only person I've ever liked like this. I know we're really different. We're from opposite ends of the tracks. But, I hope you can find some way to set aside what I done in the past and still, at least, be my friend, even if you don't want nothin' more." He inched a bit closer, stroking Steinman's arm with second knuckle of his index finger. "I don't gotta lotta friends down here."

"You don't?"

Ralph shook his head. "Who wants to be friends with a big faerie? People'll start talkin'…"

Steinman moved a hand upwards, touching the back of Ralph's neck. "…I know you didn't kill that officer in cold blood. Even if you did, I don't really believe in ethics: what is right and what is wrong. You did what you had to do to make a living for yourself, and to support your family. If you're worried about having killed someone, take heed in the fact that they are many men down here who have killed far more than you. Far more. They are allowed to continue with their practices without objection; you shouldn't be questioned either." He patted one of the stevedore's cheeks gently. "…Don't worry. I still like you."

Ralph wrapped his great arms around the surgeon's waist. "…Thanks, John. No one else has given me another chance." He looked down, taking his arms from his waist. "…Sorry." John caught them, setting the meaty hands back onto his hips.

"…You can leave them. And everyone gets a chance down here. It's why Rapture exists."

Ralph chuckled. "So, we're jake?"

John fished in a pocket on his slacks, finding the silk handkerchief he had given him before. He reached up, smearing a few stray tears away. "Yes. We're fine. C'mon back inside. It's much cozier on the sofa."

"Amen to that," agreed the worker.

"Ah!" John said, turning so sharply that Ralph almost tripped over him. "…You still have to rub _my_ shoulders."

"And I'll do it. Boy, will I do it," the dockhand promised. "I'll uh, rub a few other things too, while I'm at it."

Steinman shot him a wry face.

"Just playin' with ya."

"Oh? Want to do that, too?" John enticed, seductively rounding on the sofa.

"Don't even tempt me, man. You don't know what you're gettin' yourself into," chuckled Barsetti. They got cozy on the sofa together. "Um, you wanna sit sorta…in my lap? Or you wanna—"

The doctor got comfy between his legs, keeping away from his genitals. "…I'm fine right here."

Ralph grew intensely aroused by this, and all the more nervous, as he was free to work on his host.

"…Well, I'm sold. You're handsome, nice, and a great chef. Let's get hitched."

"I'm glad I finally got you to try one of my dishes. You seemed skeptical the other night. Mm, lower."

"Maybe I was. I was a jerk to miss out on last night's menu."

"I'd give you the leftovers from my quiche, but I'm afraid I took them into Dr. Grossman to-day. He says it reminds him of the one his mother used to make. He's nearly in tears every time he eats it." John groaned in pleasure.

"Am I goin' too hard?"

"No…it's perfect."

Ralph listened to the doctor's groans hungrily. He hoped he was just as vocal in bed and it drove him to wonder if he was making so much noise on purpose.

"A bit lower, if you would."

"No prob."

The dockhand swallowed with difficulty, sliding his hands downward. They followed the shape of Steinman's waist. It was slender, shapely; the man knew how to take care of himself. He licked his lips as he ran his fingers down the ever so slight curve once or twice. Moving one of his hands back up to a shoulder blade, he conspicuously reached around with the other. Two of his fingers tried to sneak underneath the waistband of John's trousers. The surgeon jumped up, turning on him.

"Shit! I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry…I-I didn't mean…I…"

John's face was beet red. He spoke almost through gritted teeth, lightly trying to tug his golden-orange vest down over his belt buckle.

"On the shoulders…would you kindly?"

"I'm so sorry, John," pleaded the worker.

A beat.

"I know, I know…we're only human." He sighed, alighting gently on the sofa next to him. "Are you going to behave yourself this time?"

"I'll sit on my hands, if you'd like."

"…I think I'm limbered out now. Thanks."

"You're welcome…" The worker felt guilty, and embarrassed.

"Another drink?" John enquired.

"Sure. I ain't drivin'," he chuckled. Steinman rose, rounding the sofa. He returned with two bottles in hand. They both settled back, one of Barsetti's hands clutching his brew on his knee. The other slowly lowered on top of the cushions, behind John. The doctor looked over at the hand when it became visible near his left shoulder. He smiled up at his friend, allowing it to stay where it was. The dockhand placed his bottle on the coffee table.

"Use a coaster, please," Steinman said, quickly slipping one underneath it.

"Oh…sorry."

With his other hand now freed, Ralph reached down, stroking the side of John's thigh as lightly as he could with his index finger. The surgeon's hand snapped to his waistband, but he eased off when he saw his friend wasn't going any further than his outer thigh.

"I'm really sorry for sorta, kinda…intrudin'. It's just been so long since I've—"

"Just try to control yourself a little better, okay?" John smiled.

"Oh, it's hard to around you." The doctor merely smiled bashfully. "…I'm not intrudin' now…am I?"

In return, John placed his hand on Ralph's knee. "No. I like it."

"I, uh, have another tattoo that ain't painful to remember. Wanna see it?"

"Sure."

Ralph smiled cheekily at his friend. "It's on my chest. Still wanna see?"

"_Do_ I…"

The worker laughed heartily. He tugged his undershirt down. On his pectorals was inked an old Naval ship with the words "United States Navy" scrawling across a scroll.

"Ah. I should have known you'd have a sailor tattoo," commented the surgeon, eyes transfixed on the brute's barrel-chest.

"Oh, I got a lot more. A lot of 'em were done by one of my shipmates in our barracks. It was sorta my 'get outta jail free' card. They let me sign up durin' the war. I was down in the hold of the _USS Corry_. It was a Destroyer."

"Is that so?"

"If I'm lyin', I'm dyin'."

Steinman licked his lips, rubbing Ralph's knee. "…What did you do during the war, Daddy?"

Ralph chuckled. "I was loadin' torpedoes and shovelin' coal. You know, gettin' all greasy and sweaty and dirty."

"Mm…you don't say…" Steinman tugged on the collar of his button-up shirt.

"You like big, sweaty, greasy men?"

"…Guilty! I bet you had fun."

"Eh, it was a sight for sore eyes, but, I prefer mine shorter and slender." The doctor watched his hand as it came to rest on his waist.

"Do you have any medals or decorations or anything?"

"Nah. I only got the one we all got just for bein' in the armed forces. Every guy got that. And the good conduct medal, if you can believe it." He chuckled lightly, rubbing his chest. "…You wanna touch this, too? I'll let ya."

"I still think it's a bit soon," John said, blushing furiously.

"Whatever you want. But it's here any time ya want it," Barsetti said, pulling his sweater back on.

"…I think I _will_ cuddle with you, though," the doctor said bashfully.

"…Find a spot," the dockhand said, leaning back against the sofa cushion and holding out his arms. Before they could get cozy, Steinman perked up, catching sight of the clock.

"Is that the time?" he exclaimed.

"Almost midnight. Eh, it's still early."

"I have to be up at six-thirty to get ready for work."

"Yeah…I suppose I gotta be up early, too," sighed the brute. "Lemme finish this and I'll get outta your hair."

"…I'm not saying I _want_ you to go. It would just be easier. I'd be too distracted all night."

"Oh, you would, would ya?" challenged Barsetti with a sly chuckle. "Distracted by what?"

Steinman merely blushed, patting his knee.

"When can I see you again?"

"I'm booked solid this coming week. I won't have any free time until Thursday."

"Damn, that's long…but I guess I can wait," Ralph nodded.

"You're going to have to. How does dinner sound?"

"Only if you're cookin'."

"Don't worry, I'll handle it," John said with a wink.

"Then I'll be here with bells on," Barsetti advised, heaving his great bulk up.

"Here, I'll see you out," Steinman offered.

"Thanks for dinner, John. Thanks for the brewskis, as well."

"You're most welcome," the surgeon smiled, handing him his cap.

"Thanks for lettin' me kinda hold ya, too. Pet ya a lil' bit. Rub ya."

"It was nice. Thanks."

"…And thanks, you know, for listenin' to all that and such."

John reached down, giving one of Ralph's hands a squeeze. "You're very welcome. I think that was something you needed to get off your chest. You must have kept that bottled-up for some time."

"Yeah…I did. You're one of only three guys that know about that down here," sighed Barsetti. "…Still no kissin'?"

His host shook his head. "Still too early."

"Fair enough. How 'bout a hug, eh?" he offered, holding out his great arms.

"I think I can manage a hug." Steinman allowed himself to be enveloped into Ralph's chest. It was warm and hard with muscle. The dockhand held him for a long time. The surgeon was distressed when he had to let go.

"'Night, John."

"Good-night, Ralph."


	4. Phase 4

Phase 4-May, 1958

The week seemed to drag on for both men, until they were able to see each other once more.

Ralph Barsetti hurried to Dr. Steinman's apartment the second he punched his timecard. He whistled merrily to himself as he strolled quickly through the tunnels. First date, nothing. Second date, a hug. Third date…he smiled to himself as he thought. If John operated in the same steady fashion he had been, he'd finally get a kiss that night. And after that…

"Well, it can only get better from here," chuckled the dockhand, cracking the knuckles of both hands simultaneously. He hadn't done anything with another man since he lived on the surface, and even then, more often than not, it was forced and unpleasant. He'd also had one or two liaisons in the Navy, but again, they were lusty and in the moment. He longed to crawl into bed with the handsome surgeon and have his way with him…and vice versa.

"Man, would I like to be his bitch. I admit it." He flicked his cigarette butt into a trash can, stretching out his muscular arms. "Easy there, tiger. Don't wanna spend it all before the date," he chuckled. He tried to think about something that would curb his enthusiasm.

Ralph took great pleasure in passing the splicer doorman without incident. He touched the brim of his cap mockingly, flashing him a smile. The guard narrowed his eyes, spitting on the spot where Barsetti had been. Once he was on the right storey, he carefully pulled out the quaint bouquet of flowers he had picked out for Steinman. He'd hid them in his jacket so no one would get wise. Clearing his throat and removing his cap, he knocked on the door. The doctor answered it moments later, clad in a cooking apron.

"Hey, stranger!" laughed Barsetti, holding out his arms.

"Hello, yourself!" Steinman exclaimed, practically jumping into his arms. The worker was pleased with the amount of enthusiasm the doctor was showing. He hoped it would be a promising evening.

"Boy, am I glad to see you!" Ralph said as his friend shut the door behind him.

"I know! Okay, I'll admit it. I've been thinking about you all day."

"All day, eh?"

"Well…" Steinman flushed lightly. "Okay, all week, as a matter of fact."

"No kiddin'?"

"No kidding."

"That makes two of us," the dockhand said, offering him the flowers. Steinman gasped.

"Oh, Ralph, what's all this for?"

"I didn't wanna come empty-handed. What kinda guest would I be?"

"They're lovely. Oh, you shouldn't have!" John said, pouring over the small arrangement. "Did the guard or Walter happen to see you with these?"

"Nope. Kept 'em outta sight just in case." He gently chucked Steinman's chin, as par usual.

"…Let me go put these in water," the surgeon said sensually, moving around his big friend with a certain grace.

"Hurry back," Ralph replied. Chuckling to himself, he leaned up against the arm of the sofa, folding his arms over his barrel-chest. He sighed contentedly.

"Nice! Got the whole evenin' with a sexy surgeon, he cooked me dinner, and who knows? He might even wanna skip a base to-night. I gotta hand it to Fontaine…he comes up with some great schemes."

Steinman returned with the flowers in a purple vase, placing them on the table. He sidled up next to Ralph near the sofa.

"I bet you're hungry, eh?"

"You gotta know it, man."

"Well, I took the liberty of making my specialty to-night," John explained, rounding on the oven.

"Oh? What's that?"

"Lasagna."

"Boy, am I familiar with that! Ma used to make a mean lasagna. Smells amazing! I'm sure I'll love it, if it's anythin' like the last meal I had here."

"This is what all my friends request when they visit. You'd better like it," said the doctor in a mock-threatening tone, pulling a long, wide pan from the oven.

"Lay it on me, chief," Ralph accepted the challenge.

"Just don't tell Sander Cohen about this. I swear, the man has a sixth sense for my lasagna," Steinman said.

"Yeah, like artists ever bum around with me," Ralph answered, playfully rolling his eyes.

"You know what I mean."

The dockhand hung feverishly around his host. "What's in yours?"

"A little bit of meat, Provolone, Parmesan, and goat's milk cheeses, mushrooms, tomatoes, and just a bit of spinach."

"Oh, man, does that smell good."

"Take a seat and I'll serve you right up. Would you like anything to drink?"

"You know what I'd like," Ralph said, making himself comfortable.

"I'm in the mood for a bit of red wine. Now, I know you're not a wine drinker, but, won't you try some? With me?" Steinman enquired.

"Well…what the heck, sure."

The surgeon studied his wine rack carefully, tapping his chin. "I know!" he said with a smile. "Here, we'll go with a nice Arcadia Merlot. It goes with almost any meal and it's the perfect introductory wine for new drinkers."

"Lookit that," chuckled Ralph. "You're gonna spoil me, aren'tcha?"

"You think you're spoiled _now_, wait until you see what I made for dessert," enticed the doctor.

"No way, dessert, too?"

"Dessert too," echoed John, muscling the corkscrew. He struggled for a few moments, throwing in the towel. "Er, Ralph? Could I borrow your muscle?"

"No prob, Doc." The brute rose from his chair, accepting the bottle. He grunted, pulling on the opener.

"Careful, now! Don't squeeze the neck too hard."

With a loud pop, the cork came loose.

"Wow. You really had that in there tight," Ralph commented, handing the bottle back to his host. Steinman blushed, his hand skimming over his guest's.

"…I'm good at that. Guess I don't know my own strength."

Barsetti grinned. He extended his index finger, stroking John's hand above his as they both gripped the bottle neck.

"Ya don't say…you like 'em deep 'n tight?"

"…If it does the job." He lightly shook himself out of his trance, clearing his throat gently. "Erm, w-would you take a seat, please? I'll er, I'll finish serving."

"You want some help?"

"No, no, you're the guest. Sit down, sit down."

"Well, if you insist," Ralph said, reluctantly lowering himself into his chair.

Dr. Steinman hurriedly poured out two glasses of wine, lit both the candles on the table, and dished out a heaping portion for his guest. He also took the liberty of putting on a record.

"Al_right_!" cackled Ralph, digging in.

"Tell me what you think."

The dockhand leaned back in his chair, groaning dramatically. "Oh, man…oh, man."

"So it's good?" the surgeon said anxiously.

"…This is gotta be one of the best things I've ever tasted! Sheesh, is it possible to be turned-on by food? Because I'm gettin' a little hot under the collar."

"Sitophilia…" John mumbled, stroking the stem of his wine glass.

Ralph laughed. "I like how you know what it is."

Steinman's face went a bright red.

"…What else do you know?"

The surgeon didn't answer.

"What's it called when you're turned-on by plastic surgeons?"

"Puppy love?"

"I ain't no puppy, _that's_ for sure. Ralphie's a big-dog."

"Yes, he certainly is…how's the wine?"

"Oh," the worker took a swill from his glass, smacking his lips. He shrugged his shoulders, taking another drink. "S'not too bad. I still prefer beer, but, I can handle this. S'not like I ain't never had it before, just don't prefer it."

"So, everything's to your liking?"

"Oh, man, you have no idea how incredibly happy I am, John."

"Good, good!" Steinman grinned broadly, continuing eating.

"…Thanks, ya know, for doin' all this."

The doctor looked up.

"It's really nice. The dinner, the table, um…what do you call the uh, room and music and everything—" he made a circular gesture with his finger.

"Ambience?"

"Okay," shrugged the worker. "I like it. Never eaten like this before."

"Well, I thought that to-night was sort of a special night, so, I prepared accordingly."

The worker smiled. "You…thought it was special?"

He watched his host's cheeks flush as he nodded slowly, bashfully trying to hide his face.

Ralph chuckled deeply, winking at him. "Cutie…"

Appropriately, the Ink Spots song "If I Didn't Care" came on.

"Oh, I _love_ this song!" Steinman said.

"You an Ink Spots fan?"

"Most definitely!"

"I uh, I like 'em too," Ralph said, sipping his wine. It was a blatant lie; he'd never listened to them before in his life. He only knew of them because this particular song played often on the PA in certain parts of the docks.

"Really? Which would you say is your favourite song of theirs?"

Ralph had backed himself into a corner. "Uh…um…I guess I do like this one. It's uh, kinda hard to say."

"Me too. I play this in my office all the time. Are you interested in music at all, Ralph?"

"Eh, not so much. I could never afford records and I can't play no instruments. All that stuff goes over my head."

"You can listen to the radio or use my record player anytime you want, if you're at all interested," offered the surgeon, nodding towards his set-up.

"Well, gee, that's sure nice of ya," answered the dockhand, lifting his glass. John lifted his as well, but was taken aback when Ralph put his to his lips.

"Oh, uh, somethin' wrong, John?"

"I thought you were going to propose a toast, is all."

"Oh, well, sure. To this…this nice evenin'," he smiled, holding out his glass.

"To a _wonderful_ evening," agreed Steinman as their glasses met softly. Ralph appreciated how he had taken the liberty of improving his toast. The evening was becoming more and more promising.

Ralph triumphantly dropped his fork and knife on his plate…after three heaping helpings of lasagna.

"My, you've a healthy appetite, don't you?" chuckled Steinman, taking his plate.

"That…and I was always told to finish everything on my plate. They didn't need to tell me because it wasn't that often we actually had full plates."

The surgeon chose not to reply. He felt guilty remembering he always had something to eat on the surface.

"Don't forget, I still have dessert."

"Aw, man. What is it?"

Humming along with the record, John placed a cake-dish in front of him, pulling the cover off. The scent of chocolate immediately met the worker's nostrils. His eyes widened as he beheld the dessert.

"Oh, _shit_—er, sorry," Ralph immediately corrected himself as he stared hungrily at the dish.

"Chocolate pie with hazelnut crust and toasted meringue. Go ahead, you don't have to wait for me," offered his host, placing the dishes by the sink.

"I don't know if I can…oh, wait…" The worker belched loudly, startling the surgeon. "Beggin' your pardon," he said politely, remembering his manners. "…Now I got room." He immediately set two slices on his plate.

"Now, how's _this_?" furthered John, sidling up next to him.

"Seriously…can we just get married or somethin'?" Ralph asked sincerely, looking up at his host. The doctor smiled, placing an arm around his shoulders.

"You're sweet."

"Not as sweet as this pie. Mother of god, is this amazin'!"

Steinman smiled down upon him, keeping an arm around his shoulders while his guest finished his dessert.

"Please, please don't bring any more food out," pleaded Ralph as he leaned back in his chair.

"That's all for to-night, Mr. Barsetti," giggled Steinman, taking his plate.

"Hey, what'd I tell you about that?"

He rinsed the chocolate from the plate, setting it with the others. "Would you like to relocate to the den?"

"Mind if I have a smoke first?"

"Not in the apartment, please. I'll join you on the balcony."

The dockhand slowly hauled himself up from the table, stretching his muscled arms. "Oh, wow…I need a nap after all that," he sighed, rubbing his stomach.

"Satisfied?"

"Brother, I have never eaten like this in my life. Thanks so much."

"At Steinman's, we care for you," John stated, patting the brute's stomach.

"You gotta toothpick or somethin'?"

The doctor was quick to produce one from a glass holder.

"Thanks…handsome."

"You're welcome, muscles."

Outside, Ralph settled into a chair, kicking his boots up on the railing. John sat down next to him, pushing the small table between them back and moving in. He watched him intently as he picked his teeth. When Barsetti was finished, he placed the toothpick behind an ear, taking out his packet of cigarettes and lighting one. After the first drag, he exhaled deeply, shutting his eyes again.

"I can honestly say this is one of the best nights I've ever had."

"I'm glad you think that, Ralph."

"…I like you. I'm fixin' to keep you around for a while," smiled the worker.

"Just because of my cooking?"

"No, but it helps."

"Well, they say the best way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

"Oh…so you're tryin' to get to my heart, eh?"

"Well, er…" Steinman stammered an answer. "Well, you know, it's an expression, and…" he lost all ability to speak when he looked up into Ralph's eyes. The dockhand stared at him seductively with his hard, blue eyes, his cigarette smoldering between two fingers. The surgeon would have paid any price for a photo of him at that moment. He chuckled, breaking his pose.

"Amen to that," Ralph said, giving himself another rub. "'Course…ya didn't need to feed me. You already found a way to my heart."

John blushed, turning away bashfully.

"All they feed us at the worker's tenant is fish, more fish, potatoes, stuff like that. Real boring business."

"I'd imagine."

"I'd do just about anything to have all my meals cooked by you, or at least have them all taste like yours."

"I'm flattered, Ralph."

"You don't even know the half of it." Ralph sighed again, stifling another belch. "'Scuse me."

Steinman cleared his throat softly, looking back at his friend. He gently reached up for his shoulder. He placed his hand there once more, quickly turning his attention back to the world beyond the balcony. Ralph turned his head, smiling down at the surgeon and his hand. Without another word, he shut his eyes again, placing an arm around the back of his chair. Steinman blushed deeper, patting the shoulder twice.

"You know…it's actually pretty comfy, if you wanna maybe rest your head on it," suggested the stevedore.

"…I think that's an excellent suggestion." The doctor settled down on the broad shoulder with a light sigh.

"Sorry. I know ya don't like cigarette smoke. I'll try not to breathe on ya."

"…It's fine," answered the surgeon. He could indeed smell smoke on him, but it was masked by the cologne he had put on, a different scent from last time. The big worker also smelled a bit like sweat. It was a personal scent, one that John didn't exactly think was bad, just…personal.

After Ralph's cigarette, they both adjourned to their place on the sofa. Ralph collapsed by the arm with a contented groan. Steinman nestled up next to him, their legs touching as he did. The worker chuckled, grinning down at him.

"Comfy, Doc?" he asked as he wrapped a careful arm around John. Smiling in return, the surgeon found the courage to snuggle up against him.

"…Call me John, please."

"Hey, this is new. I like it," chuckled Barsetti.

"Me too."

Ralph settled in the nook between the sofa arm and the cushion. Steinman curled up on top of his chest, wrapping his arms around his waist.

"You're firm, but you're comfy, Ralph."

"Ripped for your pleasure," grinned the dockhand.

"Ralph?"

"Hm?"

"Can I ask you another personal question?"

"Ask me anything, Johnny."

"…Why did you come to Rapture? Don't take this the wrong way, but, it doesn't strike me as a place you would exactly—"

"Lemme guess…'belong in', right?"

"Well, yes."

"It's true, I _don't_ belong here. I ain't rich, I ain't talented, I ain't successful, and I don't think my shit don't stink."

"Mm, I was going to say you know the meaning of hard work. You don't expect everything to come to you without any effort. Many of the…'common' populace…down here expect everything to be handed to them out of charity. I didn't get to be where I am to-day, here in Rapture now or back on the surface, without _years_ of schooling, internships, and studying."

"…Oh," Ralph said, feeling a bit like an asshole for what he had said previously.

"That's one of the things I admire about you, Ralph. You're honest and driven."

He shrugged. "Been workin' my whole life." He paused for a moment. "I guess I came down here for a second chance, ya know? After bein' in prison, havin' such a record…and the mob. I didn't want 'em to come lookin' for me after I got out. After the war, I found out about this place and thought maybe I could start fresh. Get a good job, get a new record, turn my life around. I was sick of bein' the brawler ready to commit a crime if it meant I'd be able to eat. Breakin' the law gets old after you do it a few times." He took another pause. "How did _you_ get down here, again?"

"Ryan invited me, because of my work in the field of plastic and reconstructive surgery."

"Ryan, eh? You and him must be real tight, eh? Like, goin' to parties and sharin' secrets tight?"

"I suppose."

Barsetti nodded. Getting closer…

"Like, the other night, he told me he secretly hated Cohen's play 'The Happy Chappy'."

"Really?"

"Oh, he went on a rampage! About how Sander is beginning to recycle his material, how he writes about the same thing repeatedly and, you know, that whole bit. He told me he'd hang me on his wall if I told him." He became comically stern, tapping his friend's chest. "Don't _you_ tell anyone I told you, though."

"Your secret's safe with me, don't worry. What else is new with him?"

"Well, if you're curious to know something else, and something about my work, he's planning on putting a new work regulation on the distribution and utilisation of ADAM in medicine."

"Really now…"

"Yes. It's a rather remarkable, yet volatile substance."

The big stevedore made a mental note about ADAM regulations and medicine. He couldn't understand, much less remember, all the jargon he'd answered with.

"Did he tell you anythin' else?"

"No, no, I've said too much already."

"Oh, c'mon! Be a bad boy," chided Ralph.

"No, no, no, I won't let you tempt me!" giggled John. They stared into each other's eyes for a length. The doctor ran a finger up one of the dockhand's suspenders, his eyes following it as it moved. He sighed through his nose, eyes flitting back up to Ralph's.

"I missed you, Ralph. Almost a week I had without you."

"It was rough, but we made it," Barsetti smiled. His hand slid up John's back, letting his hair sift through his fingers. "…My little pudding cup."

"Pudding cup?" laughed Steinman.

"Well, your hair and eyes are brown…and you're just so damn sweet."

The surgeon was somewhere between laughing and groaning, shaking his head.

"I know…bad, ain't it? I thought that up at work and almost committed Hara-kiri with my fish knife. Is that what you're laughin' at or is it too early for pet names?"

"You've put me on the spot, now. Now I'll have to think of one for you."

"Just don't use any of your surgical tools. That would be a bit freaky."

"I think you'll be pleased to hear I never had any intention of doing so," John winked, sitting up. He took a sip from his glass of wine.

"Good." Ralph sighed, sitting up as well, stroking his friend's hair once more. "You have really soft hair, Johnny. I can't keep my hands out of it."

"…I confess. I do spend a lot on hair products and personal grooming. I guess you caught me there."

"I usually just slick mine back so I don't have to deal with it. I think it would be a waste for me, but…you on the other hand…you keep it up. It really helps your sex appeal."

"Ryan told me I would do well as an actor, because I'm so attractive. Of course, we'd been drinking when he said that."

"An actor in dirty flicks?"

"No!" laughed John. "In Hollywood!"

"Well, I bet you'd make a great dirty star. You ever gonna audition for me?"

"I might…I might," Steinman said enticingly, taking both of Ralph's hands. The big worker leaned closer; John did as well. Ralph placed a hand on his friend's slender waist. The doctor gripped one of his broad shoulders, closing his eyes. Before their lips could meet, the clock chimed. John sighed with subtle frustration.

"Midnight."

"Of course," Barsetti hissed.

"Unfortunately, I've got to get to bed. I _am_ tired, though," the surgeon said through a yawn.

"Yeah. Guess I am too." He hefted his bulk from the sofa, pulling John up as well. They held hands all the way to the door, smiling bashfully at each other.

"Well, thanks for havin' me over again. It was really great seein' ya, as always. Thanks for the grub, as well."

"Any time, Ralph, you know that. You're very welcome." They hugged tightly, grunting as they tried to squeeze the life from the other.

"'Night, Johnny. See ya later."

"Good-night, Ralph. Pleasant dreams."

The dockhand placed his cap on his head, smiling as he slowly turned, heading down the hall. John watched him, biting his lip gently.

"…Wait, Ralph?"

The worker turned. "What's up, Johnny? Did I forget somethin'?"

"As a matter of fact…you did."

Checking for a clear coast, John pulled his friend back into his apartment. Shutting the door, he stood on his toes to reach him. Gripping his shoulders, he tenderly kissed Ralph's lips. Barsetti, surprised by this, took a moment or two before registering. When he did, he held John close, kissing back. His lips were warm and soft, but his favourite was the slight tickle from his thin moustache.

"Hey…there he is," chuckled the worker.

Steinman's face was a deep crimson when they broke. He cleared his throat. "It's er, been a while since I've done that."

"…I'm honoured."

"You're welcome."

"So, does this mean we're…_lovers_, now?" Ralph asked, putting extra emphasis on the word.

"I think the term 'boyfriends' would suit us better."

"I'll take it."

"If you're ready, I mean."

"Baby doll, I been ready since the day I walked into your office."

"I'm off next Sunday. Would you like to maybe…spend the night Saturday?" said John.

"I'm off next Sunday, too," grinned the dockhand.

"Perfect."

"I think so."

They held each other for a length, staring into the other's eyes.

"Good-night, my little pudding cup."

"Good-night…honeybear."

"That my official pet-name?"

John nodded.

Ralph shrugged. "I like it. It suits me."

"I thought so."

They rubbed noses and wished each other a final good-night before departing.


	5. Phase 5

Phase 5-May, 1958

"Mornin', Ralphie. Seen Steinman lately?"

"Yeah, on Friday."

"Whatcha got for me?"

"Get this…he said Ryan's gonna, um…"

Fontaine waited impatiently, drumming his fingers on the desktop as he eyed his employee.

"Um…hang on a sec." Ralph concentrated, trying to remember exactly what he'd put away. The boss rolled his eyes, his features the very picture of boredom and frustration.

"Oh! He said Ryan's gonna put some regulation on ADAM, or somethin', in medicine."

"Hm…" Fontaine looked thoughtful, a slow grin finding its way to his mouth. "Ralph…you've done me a very good service so far. Why don'tchu take the rest of the day off, eh? Go get a pint or somethin'?"

"Really? You're not gonna say this and then dock my pay, are ya?"

"You callin' me a chiseler?"

"…No, boss. Thanks." Ralph nodded, placing his cap back on his head and exiting the office in brighter spirits. He planned on returning to his apartment and going right back to bed.

"…I changed my mind. I like the ol' faggot," chuckled Frank, picking up his phone and dialing. "Now to call that Kraut dame and see what she thinks of this whole ADAM deal…"

Ralph had an epiphany on the way out of Fontaine's office. Instead of going directly back to his apartment to hit the sack, he decided instead to drop by the Medical Pavilion to see a certain plastic surgeon.

Steinman was still in surgery when the worker arrived. He sat out in the lounge, two patients as his company. They sipped Arcadia Merlot and chatted. Ralph wondered if it was okay to drink alcohol before getting an operation. Before long, the receptionist entered the lounge area, instantly spotting the big worker. She watched him, making sure he didn't do anything that would warrant a security bot's presence. After gathering her courage, she approached him cautiously. Ralph noticed, removing his cap politely as she stood next to him.

"Mornin', Miss. Need somethin'?"

"…May I ask you something, Mister—"

"Barsetti. But you can just call me Ralph."

"Right…Ralph. If you're not here for surgery, why do you visit Dr. Steinman so much?"

Before the dockhand could offer a reply, the surgeon himself emerged from the tunnel. He smiled at Petunia, a bit startled to see his friend there.

"Ralph? What are you doing down here? I thought you were usually working now?" he chuckled lightly.

"Boss gave me the day off," answered Barsetti with a grin.

"Well, c'mon back to my office and we'll talk."

"Thanks, sir."

"Sir?"

"Well, I thought since we're in your workplace…"

"Dr. Steinman! Excuse me, I'm you're ten-thirty," one of the patients said eagerly, getting up from the small table he was sharing with the good lady.

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Thatcher. You've got a minute or so, why don't you finish your glass there? I have to discuss something with Mr. Barsetti, here. He's working on the new bathysphere tunnel."

"Okay, sorry to interrupt, Doctor."

"Quite. I'll be right with you."

The young receptionist watched them carefully as they disappeared into the surgery wing, her question unanswered.

"I'm afraid I can't talk for long, Ralph. I've got to see Thatcher in a few minutes," Steinman said, checking his wristwatch.

"I only need a minute. Here…I wanna give ya somethin'."

"Oh?" Steinman stepped closer. Ralph pulled a sturdy key-card out of his pocket. The surgeon tilted his head in puzzlement. The stevedore took one of his hands, pressing the card to his palm.

"I uh…I want ya to have this."

"What is it?"

"They just finished the bathysphere tunnel to Port Neptune, you know, where I work. It's officially up and runnin'. It's uh, supposed to be kinda exclusive, for worker emergencies only. We have those a lot around there. I jacked that key from my foreman. Now you can come visit me whenever ya want. It'll take you right to the docks. I uh…kinda hope ya do. I usually get breaks 'round noon, for lunch, six for dinner, and a few ten minute breaks here and there, or whenever my foremans are feelin' generous, _if_ they are."

"…I'll do so. I'll keep it on my person at all times."

"I'll uh…I'll be anxious to see ya."

"I'm afraid I probably won't have any time this week, but…I'll keep this close for the near future."

"Really? Cool!" Ralph cleared his throat, his face a bit pink.

"Don't be shy, Ralph," Steinman laughed, placing a hand on his friend's waist.

"Sorry…I just think you're too cute, is all." He sighed. "Well, guess I'll letcha get back to work."

"Thanks for stopping by, Ralph. I hope to see you again soon."

"I can stop by to-morrow, on my lunch break."

"Sure. My break's around noon as well, depending on how long surgery takes me, if I have an appointment before."

"I can always wait, or leave, if you're too busy."

"…I'm never too busy for boyfriends."

"Hey, um…mind if I give ya, you know, a little kiss before I leave?"

"Well, I don't know…" Steinman said, looking towards the door.

"If you're not gonna be comfortable, I won't force ya."

After pondering for a moment, the surgeon shut the door softly. Standing on his toes, he gave the worker a quick peck on the lips.

"See you later, Ralph. Thanks for stopping by…and thanks for the key."

"You're most welcome, Johnny. Thanks for the kiss."

"No, _you're_ most welcome."

They squeezed each other's hand quickly and Barsetti exited the office. Dr. Steinman studied the key-card, turning it over in his hands once or twice.

"Dr. Steinman? Mr. Thatcher's ready," Petunia said from the doorway.

"Sure, sure…come in, Mr. Thatcher," he sighed, staring at the card fondly, a faint smile on his lips.

Dr. Steinman actually took the liberty of visiting Ralph at the docks where he worked Wednesday of the following week. The bathysphere ride was smooth and scenic. It certainly was exclusive. It took a bit of searching, but, the surgeon recognised him the moment he saw him. He was hefting up large crates, wearing only a grimy undershirt on his torso. Sweat rolled off of the bulging muscles on his arms, down his barrel-chest, and his thick neck. John was surprised at how much he could actually lift…and it made him feel a bit weak in the knees.

"Now _there's_ a _man_…" he giggled, lightly tugging on his collar. Making sure the coast was clear, he hurried over.

"Hello there, Ralph."

"…John?" He turned behind him. "Johnny-boy! Hey, I thought you said you were busy?"

Steinman shrugged. "I have an hour to myself, so I thought I'd come and pay you a visit."

"Well, c'mere! Gimme a hug!"

"I'll look, thank you," he smiled, taking a step back.

"Why? No one's lookin'."

"You're filthy."

"Oh, yeah, I guess you're right," chuckled Ralph, wiping a hand across his brow. "Well, I'm sure glad to see you."

"Likewise."

There was a moment of silence as they both tried to figure out how to further the conversation.

"You sure can…lift a lot, Ralph," John said, lowering his voice seductively.

"Spent most of my time liftin' in prison. I had just about three years to think about what I done," he answered, flexing his arms.

"…I'm anxious for Saturday night," Steinman replied, gawking.

"Yeah, me too. You know, bein' a surgeon…I bet you're real good with your hands."

"There must be a reason why yours are so big…" The surgeon held one of his up. Ralph reached for it, but stopped short. He pulled one of his dirty, orange gloves off. Steinman pressed his palm against his partner's, chuckling as they compared. Ralph's fingers were about an inch longer, and twice as thick. Simultaneously, their fingers threaded. After a tender moment, Barsetti brought Steinman's hand up, kissing the back of it. Before he could reply, Ralph's foreman appeared from around a stack of crates. He narrowed his eyes menacingly.

"Barsetti! Getcher faggot-ass back to work! Yer not gettin' paid to stand around and play with yer dick, ya Dago bastard!"

"I beg your pardon!" Steinman said, stepping forward.

The foreman was just about to give the newcomer a piece of his mind…before he realised who it was.

"Oh! Oh, D-Dr. Steinman, sir! Y-You are Dr. Steinman, the surgeon, aren'tcha?" he stuttered.

"I am the very same."

"Oh, er, hey! Ya know, m-my wife just had some work done by ya. Tuesday? Mrs. Johansson?"

"I remember."

"Oh, wow! Yer a genius, sir, an absolute genius! Why, s-she looks even prettier than she did before—"

"Do you usually talk to your fellow employees as such, Mr. Johansson?" enquired the doctor.

"Er…" he chuckled nervously. "You know how it is, sir. You run the Aesthetic Ideals in the Pavilion and I run the docks down here. Sometimes ya gotta use a bit of 'tough love', ya know, to get these mugs workin'. You got nurses who—"

"No. I don't know, Mr. Johansson. Yes, I run a business, yes, I have many people who serve me, but no…I don't speak to them in the same manner you do. I'd never. It's unprofessional and I am a _very_ professional man. I'll have you know that Ralph Barsetti and I are good friends, very good friends. Just remember that."

The foreman chanced a look at Ralph, immediately looking humbled by the surgeon's monologue. "Er…right. Um, you got it, Dr. Steinman, sir. Uh, Ralph, uh…you-you keep up the good work," he said nervously, backing away. Barsetti looked down at his friend, almost speechless.

"Whoa…you sure told _him_ off."

"A man in my position has to learn not to take any shit from anyone. I've already learned," he said, tugging on his jacket.

"I'll say…"

"Ralph?"

"Yep?"

"…Bend down."

Raising an eyebrow in confusion, the dockhand squatted a bit, placing his hands on his knees. Steinman gripped one of his broad shoulders, moving in and kissing him on the cheek.

"I've got to get along now. Have a good day…honeybear," he said with a wink, taking his leave.

"…You too…pudding cup…" Ralph sighed dreamily as he watched him depart. He sighed, going back to work, a carefree swagger in his step. "You know who that is over there? Oh…just my man, is all."

If the pair thought the wait until Thursday of the previous week was long, it was nothing compared to the agony they suffered until the following Saturday.

Dr. Steinman couldn't get the massive dockworker out of his mind. He smiled fondly to himself beside the sink in the operating theatre.

"To-night's the night. Ten long, long days it's been since our last encounter. Well, I saw him on Wednesday, briefly. I don't think that really counts, though," he said to himself, washing blood from his surgical tools. Steinman sighed deeply, holding his favourite scalpel up to the light, watching it glint radiantly. "…He's so…rugged and strong and…handsome. I didn't think so at first, but, he's growing on me." He placed his instruments in the decontamination chamber, sealing it. "I'm so glad I found the courage to kiss him. He's a good kisser. I'll bet he's had practice. Well, so have I, I suppose."

A nurse entered the theatre, approaching the doctor softly.

"How's the patient doing, nurse?" he enquired.

"He's doing fine, Dr. Steinman. He looks so much better without that unsightly growth." She watched him carefully. He paid her barely any attention, his eyes wandering around the theatre, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Dr. Steinman?"

"Hm?" he answered flightily, turning back to her.

"I said 'he's doing fine'."

"I know. I heard you the first time," he chuckled, moving around her.

"I didn't think you were listening to me, sir."

"Why so?"

"You seem a bit…distracted."

"Then again, I suppose I am," he concluded, setting about cleaning the operating table.

"How come?"

"…To-night's a rather special night."

The nurse was intrigued now. "Oh? Are you spending it with your wife?"

"Oh, I'm not married!"

"With your lady-friend, then?"

"I don't have one of those, either."

Now she was even more intrigued. "What's the occasion then? It must be important, or you wouldn't be so distracted."

"Oh…it's _very_ important," winked the surgeon.

"Well, whatever it is, I hope you enjoy yourself, sir. If you'll excuse me, Dr. Finneran needs me over in the Kure-All."

"Sure, Nurse Gail. Thank you for your assistance…and thanks for wishing me well."

"My pleasure, Dr. Steinman, sir," she giggled, departing to tend to her other duties.

"…She wants me…" the surgeon said to himself quietly. A smirk scrolled out across his face. "…But she can't have me." Drying off his hands, he frowned. He noticed he was out of rubber gloves. Whistling to himself, he exited the theatre, making for a storage closet.

Steinman passed by his good friend Grossman on the way to the closet. The physician stopped him, taking one of his shoulders.

"Ah, Steinman, I've been waiting for you. Are you finished?"

"For the moment, yes. What can I help with?"

"…Have you any leftovers to-day?"

The surgeon laughed. "I brought you my quiche the other day! That wasn't good enough?"

"I will never be satisfied unless everything I eat tastes like what you make!" He continued down the hallway in a huff. "Never!" he concluded, disappearing around the corner. John rolled his eyes, chuckling to himself.

Arriving at the closet, Steinman flicked on the switch. He studied the tall shelves, searching for the one he required. John spotted it, smiling triumphantly. His advance was stymied though, due to the box just above it. A more careful inspection of its contents proved his assumption right. It was filled with prophylactics. The Pavilion carried them for anyone who wanted them. With the cure-all for sexually transmitted diseases, they were mainly used as contraceptives. Choosing one, he studied it carefully, a few ideas entering his mind. He desperately wanted Ralph in bed. He was dying to see how he…looked. Performed, as well. Steinman was positive his lover felt the same. It was apparent in the sensual, almost hungry, way he always stared at him and all the comments he made. The surgeon couldn't blame him, though. He knew he was handsome and turned heads often. Even with the cure-all, he didn't want to risk contracting anything. Between prison and the Navy, who knew what sort of situations the worker had been in?

"Well…" Steinman carefully took a fistful out, stuffing them into a pocket. "…Just in case."

"Dr. Steinman?"

He jumped as he heard his name. It was Petunia, the receptionist. Whipping around, he held the box behind his back so she couldn't see.

"Er…yes, Petunia?"

"There's a man calling you on your office phone. He's asking for you personally. I don't think he wants to set up a consultation. I hope you don't mind that I answered it."

"Is he still there?" the surgeon asked eagerly.

"Yes, he's waiting. Shall I tell him you're busy?"

"Oh, no need, my dear! I'm free now. Did he mention a name?"

"No, sir. Do you think it's a client?" she enquired.

"It's probably Ralph. You know, that big dockworker?"

"Oh, right. That one. The one who always asks for you?"

Steinman laughed. "Yes, yes, just the one. We've actually gotten along quite well. We're, er…good friends now."

They both stood fastened to their places. The plastic surgeon was not about to let his secret out. He'd stand there all day if necessary.

"Er…aren't you going to answer the phone, then?" the receptionist enquired.

"Yes, of course. I just er…came to get another box of gloves. You see, I ran out after the last appointment in the operating theatre."

"Oh, well, okay then." Thankfully, she moved on. Steinman breathed a sigh of relief, slipping the box back where he found it, taking up his gloves.

"That was close…a little too close," he whispered.

"Dr. Steinman speaking."

"Hey, John! It's Ralph."

"Oh, I'm so glad you called!"

"Eh, you won't be when I tell ya why. Got some bad news. I'm gonna be a little late for our uh…slumber party…to-night."

"Oh. But you're still coming over, aren't you?"

"You kiddin'? I wouldn't miss it for the world, Johnny."

The surgeon covered the receiver, letting out another sigh of relief. "Thank the gods…" he muttered.

"You uh…want me to bring anything?"

"Like what?"

"Oh, I dunno. Anything special, like booze or…" he trailed off. "…Uh, sorry. Some people passed by. Didn't want 'em to hear."

"I figured. Well, I've got the liquor situation well in hand. The wine rack in my kitchen was only the tip of the iceberg," replied the doctor.

"Ooh, what else ya got?"

"Well, I'm a big bourbon drinker. I've got four different whiskies, spiced rum, vodka, gin and vermouth for martinis…ooh! I have chocolate liqueur. We could have chocolate martinis!"

"Boy, ain't never had one of those before. That sounds great!"

"What time should I expect you, then?"

"I'll be there around ten-ish…I think."

"Alright then. I'll have something waiting on the table for you."

"You're so good to me."

"I try."

"Well, I gotta get back to work, Johnny. I'll see ya later."

"Alright then. Good-bye, Ralph." He smiled to himself, sighing dreamily. "Ralph…my big honeybear. Only five more hours."

The receptionist appeared at the doorway to his office with the next client.

"Dr. Steinman, your…" she paused, watching the surgeon. He was reclined comfortably in his chair, staring off into space, a very contented smile on his face.

"Doctor?"

He jumped, sitting up straight and adjusting his glasses. "Yes! Petunia, er, what can I do for you?"

"Mr. Ward is here for his consultation," she said, standing aside as the man stepped forward, offering his hand.

"Oh, yes, of course. T-Thank you, Petunia," he said, standing as he greeted Ward.

Barsetti stepped from the phone booth, pulling his gloves back on.

"Just five more hours of this torture and then I get to spend the whole weekend with my beau. Damn, this has been the longest wait of my life." He stopped dead in his tracks after taking only a few steps. "Wait…what the hell am I gonna wear?!"

The dilemma was addressed the moment he got to his apartment. Ralph dug through the clothes that littered his floor and hung lazily in his small closet, coming up with nothing remotely nice. Sweaters, sweaters, dirty sweaters, stained undershirts…nothing. Snub swaggered in as usual, leaning against the doorframe as he watched his frantic friend.

"You're in a hurry, Ralphie."

"Yeah, I know! I gotta date with Steinman to-night! I can't find anything to wear again! I really wanna look nice for to-night."

"Want me to steal ya another button-up?"

"I can't do that again, Snub."

"Sure ya can!" the shorter worker smiled, waving him off. "Here, I'll be right back—"

"Wait!" Ralph said, grabbing him by the arm to halt his departure. "You know if McGee's here?"

"Yeah, I think so. Down the way. What you need him for?"

"He's the only other guy around here who's kinda my size. Maybe he'll let me borrow somethin'." Barsetti squeezed out of his tenement around Snub, hurrying down the hall to the stairwell. He sped up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Naturally, McGee's apartment was near the end of the hall, making the trip even longer. Ralph knocked heavily when he finally arrived.

"Huh? Oh, Barsetti. What's the rush?"

"Paulie, can ya do me a solid?"

"What's doin'?"

"You got like a suit or somethin' I could borrow?"

"What, you meetin' with Ryan or somethin'?"

"No, more important. You got one?"

"I'm not lettin' ya wear my suit. You're a bit wider 'n I am, you'll tear it or somethin'!"

"Fine! You got like a vest or a shirt then?"

"I dunno…" McGee said shiftily.

"C'mon! Help a guy out!" Ralph pleaded.

"I'll see…" McGee shut the door, leaving only a crack open. Ralph anxiously spied on him. The big Irishman took his sweet time looking in his closet and his stout dresser. He returned with a black button-up and a dark violet vest.

"Here. The shirt's kinda old and I don't wear the vest. My sister gave it to me, but I don't like that colour. It makes me look like a faerie. You can keep it if ya want."

"Aw man, thanks! I owe ya one, Mac! I really do!"

"I'll remember that!" Paulie yelled down the hall as Ralph took off. "…Queen…" he muttered under his breath, shutting his door.

"Success?" Snub enquired, thumping a new pack of cigarettes against an open palm.

"Yeah! Lemme show ya." Ralph dressed quickly, buttoning both garments. The shirt actually fit pretty well but the vest was a little tight and a bit on the short side. It didn't quite reach his navel.

"Hey! That's a good colour-combo on ya, Ralphie."

"Think so?"

"Yeah, you carry it."

"I just hope Steinman thinks so," Ralph smiled, admiring himself in his small mirror. He unscrewed the cap off a jar of pomade.

"I think you should leave it."

"Wha'?"

"Don't do your hair. Leave it like it is."

"But it's messy," Ralph argued, smoothing down his locks.

"It ain't _that_ messy. Makes ya look, ya know, casual. Like…you."

"Think so?"

"Know so."

"…You think Steinman'll like it?"

"If he's as genius as everyone says he is, he better."

"Good, good." Ralph took his jacket from a hook on the wall, tossing it over his shoulder like Sinatra. "How do I look?"

"If only you had a fedora, eh?" his friend smiled.

"Yeah, but I ain't that classy. Well, I'm off. See ya on Monday, Snub!"

"Monday? So, you're stayin' over at his place?"

"Ohhh yeahhh," chuckled Ralph.

"But…Saturday's the night we usually grab a couple packs and drink 'em 'round here. It's your turn to host, too. I bought the stuff last time."

"Oh, yeah, um, about that…well, I'll just have to hitcha up next time we're off. I gotta mission, remember? All in the line of duty. Sorry, Snub. I'll see ya later, okay?"

"Yeah…see ya."

Meanwhile, Dr. Steinman was also doing his best to make his appearance acceptable to his partner. He was also having the same difficulty. John had been so used to a clean-cut, formal attire and appearance, he had nearly forgotten what "casual" was. He ran his hands through his hair a few times, trying to see if he could position it in a way that made him look disheveled or having just come from work or even perhaps a fight. No luck. He smoothed it back out in the end.

Next, he played with his attire. He loosened his tie, even going as far as pulling it from underneath his vest. Then he ditched the vest entirely.

"Aren't I a regular hoodlum?" he said to himself, modeling in his mirror. He rolled his sleeves up past his elbows, but didn't fold them up neatly, as he usually did. John just pushed them until they were out of the way. Staring at himself in the mirror, he grinned mischievously, slowly, sensually pulling on his tie.

"I_ am_ beautiful…just look at me! Oh, that face…you could have anyone you wanted, anyone…" He ran a hand through his hair, piling it on one side, letting a few locks fall over his forehead. He leaned on the dresser, still entranced by his own reflection. "No wonder why he wants me so badly. I never stop and look at myself so thoroughly anymore."

Sighing, he collapsed on his bed.

"Just a few more minutes. I hope to-night we…get to know each other a little better. I'm _dying_ to see him without a shirt on. Mm, that chest…those arms…!" He stroked the pillow next to his fondly. Cuddling into it, he looked back over to the dresser. One of the photos tucked into his mirror caught his eye. Sitting up, he remembered which one it was. Steinman sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Too bad you weren't…good enough…Richard. Perhaps it could have been you I'm waiting for."

"—So, John. It's our fourth date. How 'bout a bit of bumpin' and grindin'? …No, no. I can't say that. Psh, hey, John! On the bed, right now, let's fuck!" Ralph mocked himself inside the elevator as it slowly ascended. Walter, the attendant, apparently wasn't working that evening, for he wasn't in the lift.

"Geez, I sound like a complete asshole." He sighed, leaning against one of the walls. "How do you ask your boyfriend politely for sex?" Barsetti stared up at the light panel above his head. On it was a pleasant beach scene and clouds. It gave him what he hoped would be a good idea. Tipping his cap back a little, he rested one elbow on the wall, sweet-talking the panel of buttons.

"…Johnny? We both got to-morrow off, let's pull an all-nighter, eh? Lemme take you to paradise…please?"

The lift stopped on the surgeon's floor and Ralph stood tall. "Yeah…yeah, that's it. Now alls I gotta do is remember it."

John's head shot up as soon as he heard the knock on his door. He hurried into the den, stopping halfway, trying to make it look like he wasn't in the biggest rush of his life to answer it. He smoothed his hair out, in spite of himself, and adjusted the grey cardigan he'd put on. Behind the door stood the burly worker, an eager smile on his face.

"Hey there, pudding cup!" he said, removing his cap.

"…Hi, honeybear," the doctor said dreamily.

Ralph entered, keeping his eyes glued to Steinman. He hung up his cap slowly. The moment he was rid of it, he leaned down lightly, taking a gentle hold of the back of John's neck. The surgeon reached upwards, giving him a quick peck on the lips. The stevedore frowned when he broke away so quickly.

"Aw, c'mon. That wasn't a kiss, that was just a peck! Come back over here and gimme a _kiss_."

Halfway to the oven, Steinman eyed him, returning to Barsetti's side. "…Very well."

The surgeon grabbed him, pulling him close. He pressed his lips to the worker's roughly, teasing him with just a little bit of tongue.

"…_That's_ what I'm talkin' 'bout…" Ralph muttered. He held John around the waist, the surgeon gripping him in return. "Man…this was the longest wait in history."

"It certainly seems that way." He smiled. "Wow, Ralphie! Don't you look dapper!"

"Really? D'ya like it?"

"Like it? I love it! You wear purple very well."

"Nah!"

"Yes, you do, you big brute! Don't be modest, please! I like your hair too."

"Aw, shucks. Thanks for all these compliments."

"And you're deserving of every one."

"I tried to dress-up for you, ya know, seeing as you always look so nice."

Steinman wore a look of concern. "Hm. I tried to dress-down for you." He gestured to his loose button-up, slacks, and slippers. "…Because you always look so comfortable."

"I like it. You look…I wanna say 'domestic'?"

The doctor rolled his eyes playfully with a chuckle. "You should have seen me earlier. I had an apron on. I guess we know which one of us is the skirt."

"I hope not. I like my better half in pants." Ralph grinned. "Well, I'm glad you like it."

"Do I! I love the way your shirt and vest fit you. They show off all those big, bulging muscles," Steinman said cutely, giving one of his bare forearms a squeeze. "And that washboard of yours," he winked, patting his partner's stomach. Ralph recoiled playfully.

"Be gentle. I haven't eaten anything since lunch!"

"I thought I heard an echo," chuckled the doctor as he slid around the island in the kitchen. "Now…if we could only get rid of that awful jacket of yours."

"What? You don't like my jacket?"

"Ugh, no! It's tattered, dirty, and it smells like it's never been washed."

"It's only got a few holes…"

"Both of the elbows are blown out! And what did you do to the bottom, here? Try to clean it with a cheese grater? You'd probably need one to get off…ugh, whatever's on here."

"Well, I like my jacket. I've had it for years. It's comfy."

"Fine, but I don't want it in my home after to-night," Steinman concluded, throwing up his hands in despair as he checked the contents of the oven.

"Whatcha got to-night, Johnny?" he said, remembering the wonderful meals he'd had before.

"Wait until you see what I have in store for you…"

"Oh man…this is gonna be good, I can tell."

The surgeon rattled-off the names of all the dishes as he presented them on the counters. "I have prosciutto-wrapped scallops, seasoned corn, grilled asparagus, and I baked a tiny loaf of hazelnut bread."

"When did you have time to do all this?" enquired Ralph, pouring over the dishes.

"Well, you've only just arrived, and it _is_ after ten o'clock at night."

"And you made all of this just for my visit?"

"I certainly did. Let's begin, shall we? I'm very hungry," the doctor suggested, taking up a plate.

"…You mean you waited for me? All this time?"

"I did."

Barsetti was rendered speechless. He watched John making up a large plate, most likely intended for his guest. He handed it off to him with a smile.

"There's always more, should you want it," he advised, pinching one of his cheeks playfully. Ralph watched him as he made his own plate. No one besides his mother had ever cooked him meals. No one ever waited for him before eating. The stevedore bit his lip tightly, doing all he could to fight back tears.

"Would you like anything to drink, Ralph?"

He didn't seem to hear him.

"Ralph?"

"Oh! Uh, yeah, John?"

"What would you like to drink?"

"Oh, um…got any suggestions? You know, to what would go with this?"

"A nice Chardonnay would go well with the scallops, but we could also just have beer, if you want it."

"…I'll try the wine again," he smiled gingerly, with a slight shrug.

"…I like this side of you, Ralph. You're dressed nice and you're willing to try new things. I didn't think you did either."

"Well, sure. I'll try anything you make or suggest."

"I promise not to lead you astray," nodded Steinman, winking as his lover took his seat at the table.

Steinman also had candles at this table. He also dimmed the lights a bit and put on another record, by a group unknown to Ralph.

"Who's this?"

"This is a record by Tommy Dorsey's Orchestra…I find it very romantic."

"It definitely is. Know whose voice I really like? Speakin' of music and such…"

"Whose?"

"…Bing Crosby. I-I dunno. His voice, it just reminds of…of bein' home or somethin', like everything's gonna be okay. I don't really have any memories associated with his songs or anything; I just like him."

"Oh, he _does_ have a marvelous voice. It could melt butter."

"Mm-hm." Ralph looked down to his plate, his eyes soon finding their way across the table. "…Thanks."

Steinman looked back up.

"Just…thanks. For all of this. Everythin'."

"You're very, very welcome, Ralph."

"Ya know, I never been much of a vegetable eater, but this is good," commented Ralph, biting into a forkful of prosciutto-wrapped asparagus.

"I assumed so. That's why I took the liberty of wrapping it in meat."

"Well, mainly because I never really had 'em. When I did, they were usually old or rotten or somethin'. We'd get soft potatoes, brown cabbage, these carrots that would just bend; they wouldn't snap in half. Gross stuff."

Steinman felt the same guilt as he had before looking down at the fresh vegetables on his plate.

"This is the second Italian meal I've made for you. I hope you're not offended."

"Hell no, I love it! As long as you made it, I'd eat it."

"…I'm glad." He held up his wine glass. Ralph's eagerly met his in a soft toast. After a sip of Chardonnay, he watched his muscular friend fondly as he ate. Barsetti soon noticed him, smiling.

"Whatcha lookin' at, Johnny?"

"…I really do find you attractive dressed like that," Steinman said.

"I'm gonna start dressin' like this more often!"

"I'd like that."

Ralph watched his partner for a moment, focusing back on his plate. In the few moments he'd been there, his entire view of Steinman changed. His mission from Fontaine or questions about Ryan didn't even enter his mind.

Ralph insisted on helping clean up when they had finished their meal. Steinman wouldn't have any of it, though.

"Here, lemme help you with the dishes, Johnny."

"I think not. You're the guest. You just have to rinse it and I'll get to them later."

"C'mon! I bussed tables and washed dishes at two different restaurants when I was livin' in New York after the war. I know what I'm doin'."

"Well…"

"C'mon, it'll be cute. You and me scrubbin' pots together. It's the least I can do after all these nice meals you've cooked for me."

"…Alright. I have a few, I suppose it'll make things go faster."

"Good."

The surgeon rolled up his sleeves, pulling on a pair of gloves.

"Heh, remind you of work?" the dockhand commented, tapping one of John's forearms.

"Hardly. My assistant during dishwashing is more much appealing than the ones at the Aesthetic Ideals."

Ralph giggled foolishly as John winked at him.

"I bet you work with all dames, eh?"

"Yes. There are one or two male nurses, but, I don't usually work with them. They're mostly women. There are quite a few male doctors, though."

"Any of 'em handsomer than me?"

"Well…there are a couple lookers, but they're certainly not _built_ like you. You're one of the bigger men I've seen in my lifetime."

"If I only had a pretty face, eh?" Ralph scrubbed a pot roughly.

"You're not ugly, Ralph. Definitely not."

"I think I am. I wouldn't date me if I was someone else."

"…I think you're attractive," Steinman concluded. "You wouldn't be here if I didn't think you were."

Barsetti shrugged, grimacing slightly.

"I didn't think so at first, mostly because I was too blinded by the fact that you're from Apollo Square, but, I've moved past that and realised that you're quite the hunk." They shared a glance. "I knew I'd regret it if I let you go."

Ralph leaned down, meeting John in a tender peck on the lips.

"You're one of the only guys who's ever said that to me…and meant it."

"I do mean it. Others have told you this?"

"Yeah. I've had a few guys say things like 'I want you forever, Ralph' or 'I'll be there for you' and they never came through. Some ditched me, some went back to women, you know, 'cuz they were ashamed. They were never there when they said they would be." He set the pot he'd be cleaning down heavily on the drying rack. "…I hate bein' cheated like that. Especially when you feel for the guy. When you think there really could be somethin' there. But they just want somethin' you have or they're just usin' you for some stupid…" he trailed off, staring down at the faucet. "…Reason."

"…Do you want to talk, Ralph?" Steinman cautioned.

"…No…no, I'm okay."

"Well, you know I'll listen if you ever want to."

Ralph leaned down once more, kissing John on the cheek. The doctor smiled up at him as he dried off a pan, keeping his attention focused stolidly on it.

"It's a good thing I can't cook like you can, or I'd be a fat bastard," Ralph commented, slinging a dishtowel over his shoulder. "That was another masterpiece, m'dear."

"Oh, _are_ you finished?" challenged the doctor lightly.

"Uh oh. What more d'ya got?"

"Oh, I just had a hunch the other day, so I made some cookies, is all."

"Where?" the worker nearly demanded.

"In the jar right there," Steinman nodded in the corresponding direction. Ralph was upon it in an instant, rewarded with a fistful of cookies.

"What kind are these? Besides amazingly delicious?"

"German chocolate. They've got dark chocolate, a bit of molasses, and a pinch of cocoanut."

"My little Kraut," the worker chuckled, pinching one of his lover's cheeks.

"You're Irish and Italian, I don't know whether to use 'Mick' or 'Wop'."

"Well…I was more fond of my ma, and I look like her, too. Wop's fine."

"I'll remember that. I also have some ice cream in the refrigerator, should you want that, too."

"I'll get it now. Thanks for offerin'. What flavour?"

"Neapolitan."

"Oh, my favourite!" laughed Ralph, opening the fridge. "You know, it's Italian."

"Oh, really?" John said over his shoulder, taking his seat back at the table. He knew this prior, but wanted to give his partner a chance to flaunt some knowledge.

"Yeah, man. When they all started comin' over before the turn of the century, they started callin' it that after the people. If there's one thing Italians do well, it's cook."

"That's certainly true. I love Italian food."

"My ma was a wonderful cook. She did good with what we had."

"Well."

"Well, what?"

"No, I meant you should have used the word 'well'. She did 'well' with what we had."

"What's the difference?" the dockhand asked, sitting back down, a huge bowl of ice cream in hand.

Steinman shrugged with a smile. "It's grammatically correct."

"Oh, uh, okay then?"

"Sorry. I'm like that." John patted one of Ralph's hands. He gently offered it in response, John giving it a loving squeeze as the worker finished his desserts.

"Another perfect meal," the stevedore concluded with a sigh when he was finished. "…Unless you got somethin' else?"

"Nope, that's all. I'm so glad you liked it. You're sure it was cooked to your liking?"

"Yeah, man. It was perfect."

"You're positive?"

"Yes, John. I am."

"You'd tell me if something I made was no good though, wouldn't you, Ralph?"

"Well, I would…if it was possible for you to make something no good. Since it's not, no. I got no reason to."

"You're such a sweetheart. Would you care for a drink now?" Steinman offered, taking his bowl to be washed.

"Sure! When I called you earlier, you said somethin' about chocolate martinis…?"

"I certainly did," the surgeon said slyly. "You wouldn't happen to be hinting at anything, would you?"

"I'd like to try one, if you'd kindly make 'em."

"You read my mind."

"I didn't know that was possible," Ralph commented, rising from his chair. He leaned against the counter, watching his friend prepare the drinks. His eyes came to a rest on the seat of John's slacks.

"…You look cute in this little sweater of yours, Johnny. And you still got a tie on?"

"I'm afraid this is as close to casual as I get. I guess I'm just so used to dressing nice all the time. I have to do it quite often."

"You gotta wear a suit to do surgery?"

"Well, no. When I'm working, I usually wear something like what I've got on now. I want to be comfortable, because I'll be dressed in a heavy coat and working under bright lights for hours at a time, but at the same time, I need to look presentable if I've got a consultation with a client."

"Doesn't all the blood and gunk gross you out?"

"It better not. One can't be a surgeon if one can't stand a bit of gore," answered Steinman, peering out over the top of his glasses.

"Eh…" Ralph paused for a moment, staring at the floor. "…I don't like blood so much."

"Oh?"

"Nah. It sorta…reminds me of when I got my finger chewed off. I think I mentioned that before. I uh…also saw some of the guys on Normandy Beach." The big dockhand became somber, threading his arms a bit tighter across his chest. John put down the tumbler, touching one of Ralph's thick biceps.

"Ralph…I didn't know you were near Normandy. Why didn't you tell me sooner? I wouldn't have said anything."

"No, you're okay." He shrugged. "The uh…the ship I was stationed on, the _Corry_, assisted the troops who were stormin' Normandy and all the others. It took some fire from German guns on land and eventually was sunk. I had to swim all the way to shore. Damn, I was never so tired in all my life. I washed up on the beach with some of the other men from her crew." He paused. "…The whole strip, the sand, everything…red."

Steinman moved a bit closer, hugging one of Ralph's biceps.

"…Blood, everywhere. Bodies…" Ralph sniffled, shielding his eyes. "I seen a few massacres in the mob, but…those were _nothin'_ compared to this. Just…everywhere."

"I'm so sorry, Ralph! I didn't mean to bring it up."

The stevedore remained silent.

"I never really told anyone how I feel about it. I just sorta, try to put it out of my mind."

"You shouldn't do that, Ralph. You should talk to someone. It would be much better for you to express how it made you feel than keeping it bottled-up inside. Like the heart-to-heart we had the other night, regarding your life."

"Dr. Brandt told me that, when I saw him on Wednesday."

"Oh! You went to see him?"

Ralph nodded.

"Did it help?"

"…Yeah, maybe a little bit. He said I definitely have an anxiety disorder, and he's sure I've got post…um…somethin' disorder."

"Post-traumatic stress disorder?"

"Yeah, I uh, I guess."

"Well, I promise to help you through whatever's bothering you. I'm here for you, Ralphie."

Barsetti ran a hand over his hair, a few locks falling back to his forehead. "…I don't wanna bother ya with more of my problems."

Steinman touched one of his huge hands. "What's a boyfriend for if you can't tell him what's not right in your life?" With his free hand, he lifted a full martini glass, placing it against his palm.

"You do all this nice stuff for me…I don't know how I'm ever gonna repay you."

"…I can think of one thing right now."

"What? You name it, anything."

Steinman took one of his large hands, smiling mischievously as he led his friend down the hall and out to the balcony. When they were outside, he set down his martini. Ralph did as well. He allowed the surgeon to place his hands on his waist as he nuzzled down deeply into his chest.

"…This. This can be your payment."

"You sure this isn't _your_ payment?"

"We both win."

They sat wrapped in each other's arms for a very, very long time.

"…Did you get enough to eat, Ralph?"

"I did. Thanks."

"No…thank you," John said, releasing him.

"Um…" Ralph opened his shirt halfway, revealing most of his chest. "…I know you're always talkin' about how much you like it."

"I am…and I do. Let's go back inside, where it's a bit warmer. I didn't realise how cold it is out here."

"I dunno. You're makin' things pretty hot." Ralph hugged him back to his chest, rubbing one of his arms. "There. If you're still cold, I'll give ya twenty greenbacks."

"…Keep it. I'm fine. But I'm sure you don't want to stand for the rest of the night." The surgeon blushed as Ralph let him go. "…C'mon, you big brute."

Ralph followed him into the kitchen, setting his glass on the counter.

"Would you care for another drink?"

"Sure! These are amazing…just like the dinner. I think you're probably the best cook I ever met. And I've actually met a lot of people in my life, between the mob, prison, and the Navy. Then again, look where I had my meals. The food in the mob was usually good, though. The dames were usually cookin'. Wives or mothers or whatnot."

"They didn't let women into the mob?"

"Actually…we had a couple lady-mobsters. Tell you what, I wouldn't have wanted to tangle with _them_. Fierce. Did jobs just as well as us men did. Pistol-packin' mamas, no doubt!"

"I think I remember hearing a few stories. And I know about Bonnie and Clyde."

"Yeah. Well, everything was fabulous. I've always liked _prosciutto_." Ralph pronounced it flawlessly.

"Do you speak Italian, Ralph?"

"I think I speak it pretty well. My ma's English wasn't _too_ great, but at least she could get around. Her ma and pop didn't speak any English at all. I had a buncha relatives who came directly from Palermo, which is a city in Sicily, mob central. My buddy speaks it perfectly, so we use it whenever we don't want eavesdroppers or our foremans to understand us."

"Well, I'm very glad you liked it. I don't like to eat meat so much," he then said.

"Really? It's so great! How come?"

"Well, red meat really isn't that good for you. It's high in fat and cholesterol and can raise your blood pressure. Chicken is the dirtiest meat. It's loaded with bacteria of all sorts. I've never been fond of pork. It's not very clean, either. I love veal, though! Then again, I _am_ German. Fish is an excellent meat. I eat a lot of fish and seafood." He handed Ralph another martini.

"So do I, well, you know that. Duh. Suppose we all do."

"It's very good for the heart."

"Then it's a good thing it's always on the menu. But mm! I love meat. Gimme a burger or a nice, big steak _any _day."

"You're such a man," Steinman said, rolling his eyes playfully.

"Does this mean you'll never cook me up a big, juicy steak?"

"I'd rather not."

"Not even for my birthday?"

"Well…" Steinman chuckled. "I guess you caught me on a technicality, there. When's your birthday?"

"November first. I'll be thirty-eight."

"You most certainly do not look your age!" John said, shocked.

"Really? Thanks, pudding cup," chuckled Ralph.

"Oh, but you're younger than _me_…"

"What?! No way! How old are you?"

"…Guess!"

Barsetti thought, studying his boyfriend's handsome features. "…No way are you older than me…aren't you like, what, twenty-nine or somethin'?"

Steinman's face went a bright red as he giggled uncontrollably. "Please take me into the back room and have your way with me, good sir!"

"Was I right?"

"Don't I _wish_."

"Then how old are you?"

"…Alright, I'll tell you, but you must promise not to tell anyone."

"Wow, you really _are _a queer."

The surgeon slugged him on the arm.

"Okay, okay! Easy there, bruiser. I won't tell no one."

Steinman licked his lips. "…I turned forty-three back in March."

"No!" laughed Ralph. "You're no forty-three! There's no way. Impossible."

John immediately grabbed the worker's chin, planting a long kiss on his lips. Ralph sat in something of a daze when he took his lips away, giggling like a cheeky young boy.

"How's _that_ for dessert?"

"…Can I have seconds?"

The doctor pulled his groin a bit closer, smiling. "…Of course." Steinman wrapped his arms around his neck as he allowed the worker's hands to alight on his waist. They both leaned in. Their kiss was long and passionate, much longer than the ones they had shared previously. John felt one of the monstrous hands run up his back, lightly sliding through the brown hair on his head. The other gripped his right buttock, kneading it softly. Steinman slid one of his hands to his partner's face, stroking the gritty stubble. John started as he felt himself being pushed backwards. He broke away, planting one hand on the island as he was bent backwards.

"Oh!" he gasped. Ralph stood over him, pinning him against the counter. He spread his legs, lining up their groins. The dockhand leaned down.

"…Pinned ya," he whispered in his ear. Steinman felt a pang of terror. Ralph was much bigger than him and if he wanted, he could easily have him. However, the brute leaned down and kissed his cheek with a softness the doctor would never have expected from such a bear of a man. Barsetti brought one of his hands up, rubbing Steinman's upper arm. The surgeon settled down, staring up into the cold, blue eyes.

"That was a nice little make-out session. You're a damn good kisser."

"…You're not too bad yourself."

"I betcha tell that to all the boys…" Ralph nodded towards the sofa. "You wanna get a little more comfortable?"

"You read my mind."

Freeing him, Ralph followed John into the den, where they made themselves cozy together on the sofa.

"Oh, uh…would you mind if I took off my shirt?"

"…I insist."

Barsetti grinned. Standing, he unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. He tossed it and the vest onto the armchair to the right. He pulled his suspenders off of his great shoulders as well, letting them fall limp to his sides.

"Much better. It was gettin' a little bit…hot."

Steinman licked his lips, inching in tighter. Ralph took his seat, crossing one leg over the other. He placed his arm around John as he cuddled closer, the other gripped one of his thighs, pulling him closer.

"I gotta feeling we're gonna have lots of fun to-night, Johnny-boy."

"And I've got a feeling that you may be right…" Steinman furthered. "May I ask you, yet another, personal question, Ralph?"

"You don't gotta ask every time, pudding cup. You can ask me whatever your heart's desire whenever you want."

"…Did you have a difficult time in prison?"

Barsetti's face dropped its cheekiness in an instant. He sighed deeply, staring at the coffee table. "…Yeah. Yeah, it was rough. My first day there, they filed us into a room, and had us strip and put our uniforms on. Well, before we actually got the stripes, they hosed us down like animals and threw this powder on us that was supposed to keep the lice off."

John gave him his full attention, engrossed in his memory.

"They put me in a cell with two other guys. They were much bigger'n me at the time. I was always a big kid, tall and sturdy…but these guys were monsters. One took my mattress to put up against the door, so I had nothin' to sleep on, and the other…he liked to touch me. He made me cuddle with him and he'd stick his hand down my pants. Which, I guess, was okay…s'not like I had a problem with it or anything, but…you know."

"…I think I understand…" the surgeon said softly.

"It was only for a day, though. They don't like to have more than two guys in a cell, but, there were a couple of us newbies that week. They moved me in with another guy. He wasn't the biggest, but damn, he commanded a lotta respect from the others. He'd been there for about five years prior; in for double-homicide. It wasn't fair though. He told me some guys raped his sister, and he did what any sensible big brother would do…found 'em and killed 'em. I believed him. He shouldn't have been there."

Steinman nodded solemnly, casting his eyes to the floor.

"Anyway, I got real tight with him. He told me everything I had to do to stay sane…and alive…in the Joint. We'd sit next to each other when we ate, he'd spot me when I was liftin' weights and I'd spot him. We started gettin' tighter…I mean a lot tighter. I can't tell you how many times I fell asleep in his lap and he'd be there, strokin' my hair. He used to call me _Chico_, which was I guess Spanish or somethin'. He was originally from Puerto Rico."

"…Was he your lover?"

"…Ya know, I don't really know. I guess. We'd kiss a lot, rough-like, like a couple a' men. We'd both suck each other's cocks, too. We never did it in the ass, though. Sometimes we'd finger each other, but, it never got past that."

"Well…at least you had someone there."

"…Prison is awful, John. You find maggots and all kinds of bugs in the food, you can't see your family or anything unless they visit you, and there's always shit goin' down between inmates or with guards who let their authority go to their heads. I been beat, cut, molested, raped, you name it."

"You were raped?"

"Loads o' times. The guys in there don't care, queer or not. As long as you've gotta hole and they can hold ya down, they'll have their way with you. Guards, too. This one guy used to let me outside a little longer than the rest for a blowjob. But sometimes, I would do it, and he wouldn't let me stay." Here, he sighed deeply. "I'm just glad they let me join the Navy, so I could get the fuck outta there…sorry, er, so I could—get—out of there. If I was in the Army or the Marines or somethin', though…I woulda definitely picked prison over war. Just from what I seen on Normandy Beach."

Steinman shook his head, taking a hold of one of Ralph's hands. "…Don't apologise." He nuzzled against it. "You're a very strong man, in body and spirit. I wouldn't last a day in prison. You made it three years."

"Barely."

They sat in silence for a moment, lost in their own thoughts regarding the matter.

"Ralph?"

He looked up.

"Would you do something for me?"

"Anything, John," he smiled weakly.

The doctor smiled as well. "…Lie down."

"Oh, you got it, good sir," chuckled the worker, getting comfortable against the arm of the sofa. John stood up. Seductively, he pulled off his tie, draping it over the sofa cushion. He unbuttoned his shirt halfway, revealing a chest with very white skin and lacking hair. When he was finished, he lowered down onto his friend's chest. His knees skirted Ralph's hips, with his groin just above his. John settled down, snuggling into one of the dockhand's large pectorals.

"Well, well, well…that was a nice little show. Sorry it ended so soon."

"You should consider yourself lucky; I've only done this for one other person in my life."

"The lucky bastard…"

"…And I think I'll take you up on your offer now."

"Hm?"

Cheekily, Steinman let his hand slip down and under Barsetti's shirt. The big dockhand grinned as he felt fingers sliding over his belly, up to his pectorals. John caressed them neatly.

"So…what do you think?"

"I want to go back to the docks and watch you work, but longer this time…" the surgeon said dreamily.

"Yeah? Big, bad Ralphie-boy?" he answered playfully. His left hand snaked underneath Steinman's shirt and slacks, finding his waist. He caressed the bare, warm skin gently. The doctor sighed.

"It's been too long since I've done this…"

"When was the last time?"

"Back in medical school."

"Oh…someone helpin' ya out with human anatomy, eh?" He chuckled as the surgeon gently hit his shoulder. "I'm just kiddin'. He was a lucky, lucky bastard."

Steinman smiled up at Barsetti. "You're sweet, you know that? I know you think you're a bruiser, but, you've got a heart of gold, don't you?"

Ralph leaned down, nuzzling his nose against John's. "When I'm with someone special, I guess." John nuzzled back, giving him a squeeze. Ralph inched just a bit closer, his lips touching the doctor's. Steinman kissed back, rubbing just underneath one of the massive pectorals.

"Wait…" the dockhand whispered, breaking. They both sat up.

"Yes?"

The big man held his lover's cheeks in his hands. "…Will you take your glasses off for me?" His stare never leaving his partner's, the surgeon slowly reached up, pulling them from the bridge of his nose. A big, kind smile found its way to Ralph's face.

"John?"

"Mm-hm?"

"…You got some very, very beautiful eyes."

Steinman's face went bright red. "You think so?"

"Oh yeah. It's too bad you gotta hide 'em behind a pair of specs. I guess they ain't too bad, though. They make ya look smart, a sexy kinda smart."

"Me? I think the real stud here is _you_, Ralph. Haven't you ever looked in a mirror?"

"Eh, ain't never seen nothin' special in one."

"Ralph…your eyes are absolutely stunning."

"Eh—"

"Don't be modest. I beg of you. They're the lightest, prettiest blue I've ever seen. They're much prettier than Sinatra's."

"Aw…shucks," Ralph chuckled bashfully. "Now you're just makin' stuff up."

Steinman touched his cheek, turning his face back to his. "I'm not. And I had quite a crush on Sinatra on the surface. I guess I have a thing for Italian men."

"Big, stupid, workin'-class Italian men?"

"…Big, sweet, handsome Italian men."

The pair kissed ever so lightly on the lips. Ralph grunted as he broke away, placing a hand over his groin.

"…Excited?"

"I'm just, uh…thinkin' 'bout…stuff."

"Me?"

"No, the record player," chuckled Ralph. "Um…now that we're comfortable, wanna see my, um…the rest of my tattoos?"

"You have more?" laughed Steinman.

"Sure I do! I was in prison for three years and the Navy for four more. Whaddaya expect?" Ralph stood up to his full height. He slid his undershirt up over his muscular torso. When he was bare-chested, he smiled down at John. The surgeon sat in something the worker took to be both awe and arousal. He even caught him unbuckling his belt.

"Dear gods…how often do you exercise?"

"Not so much, actually. I used to on the surface a lot. I did every day in the Joint. The docks keep me in shape down here. I'm startin' to lose my washboard, though," he said, running a hand over his stomach. "I had abs once. Now I have a belly."

"I think you look fine."

"Do ya?"

Steinman nodded vigourously. He stared at the canvas that was Barsetti's skin. The most dominating tattoo was a large Celtic cross on his side. His right pectoral muscle boasted several flowers. John couldn't tell what kind they were supposed to be, though. Across his stomach was the name Officer Dermot Mulligan. The surgeon touched the letters softly.

"…Was this the—"

"Cop? Yeah. I thought, ya know, I should get somethin' that'll be like a memorial to him and at the same time, never let me forget what I done."

The doctor smiled weakly. "That's…well, I don't know if 'nice' is the right word. 'Thoughtful', I guess, would be more appropriate."

"You know, in Italy, you get tattoos when you've sinned." He looked down the length of his body, shrugging as he ran a hand through his coarse, abundant chest hair. "…I gotta lot to atone for." He then spread his legs further, placing both of his hands on John's shoulders. "Go on…touch anything you like," the worker whispered. "Don't be afraid to muscle anything either. I can handle it."

John slid his hand back up, the other joining it. They ran over his belly, straight up to his pectorals. Barsetti got down on his knees, so his lover could reach.

"Hey, look at me…on my knees in front of you."

John smiled, breathing a bit heavier. He licked his lips as he stared distantly at Ralph's trousers.

"Whatsa matter, tough guy? Nervous?"

"…Aroused. Mm…I haven't felt this excited in years."

"…You wanna see somethin' else?"

John cocked his head. Barsetti chuckled, standing and spreading his legs. He took one of John's hands, pressing it against the bulge in his trousers. The doctor's face flushed as he touched the erection concealed behind the wool. "Feel that?"

"Jesus…"

"This is how ya make me feel."

"…It's an honour, I'm sure…" Steinman said. He couldn't help but fondle it. He was aching to look behind the fabric.

"Hey…can I tell ya a secret? I uh, hope it don't freak ya out or nothin'."

"Go ahead, Ralph."

He paused for a moment, running a hand through his hair as he stalled for time. "…You know that colour ad of yours I had earlier?"

"Yes?"

"…Well…" A beat. "…I used to, ya know…jack off to it."

Steinman chuckled airily. "Really?"

"Yeah. The boys used to know when I wasn't workin' evenings, because they'd hear me yellin' your name from inside my tenenant. Sorry I ain't as classy as you," grinned the dockhand. "But, it is what it is."

"On the contrary…I think I could give you a run for your money on 'classiness'," answered John. He sat back, opening his legs. Ralph could plainly see the doctor was just as aroused as he was. Unable to control himself, his hand shot out, gripping John's erection. He startled his lover gently. Steinman panted with both anxiety and arousal. Barsetti rubbed his groin, muscling it.

"…O-Oh, god…" John whispered.

"Sorry. I get a little…feisty…'round you." His hand dug underneath the slacks. John felt it cup his genitals, rubbing them through his undergarments. Ralph leaned in, his lips brushing against his lover's. Steinman broke after a few moments, panting as he unbuttoned the remaining on his shirt.

"Ralph…oh, Ralph…" he gasped as he felt his lips caress his neck.

"John…what a body. Mm, you're just the kinda lad I'm lookin' for…"

"Oh, god…"

"You're the sexiest surgeon in Rapture. No…you're the sexiest _man_ in Rapture…"

Steinman twitched as he felt Ralph's index finger snake inside and caress him. A few teases saw him retract his hand. John opened both eyes slowly, blinking perspiration away. Barsetti stared seductively at him, with his enchanting blue eyes. They lowered, hungrily, to his groin. The worker pushed back his partner's fly, leaning down. Just as he was ready to pull back his undergarments, Steinman caught him.

"Wait…Ralph?"

"Yeah?"

John pushed him away. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the stack of prophylactics he had taken from the supply closet. Ralph took one of the packets up. He chuckled heartily. Steinman's face went a bright red.

"I, er…didn't know what your intentions were, but, if anything happens…we'll be protected."

"Heh, _my_ intentions? Why else would you invite me to spend the night? You weren't thinkin' of playin' cards all night, were ya?"

John bit his lip playfully. "…I didn't want to sound like a floozy, but I'll come clean. I've been wanting…hoping…you'd bed me for some time now. I haven't gotten off in…well, years."

Ralph smiled, rising to his feet. He went over to the coat-rack, fetching something from his jacket. He returned, placing a jar on the table. John picked it up and saw that it was petroleum jelly. He smiled slyly.

"I uh…got the family size," the worker pointed out.

"I can tell," giggled John.

Ralph scratched the back of his neck nervously and Steinman could have sworn he saw a pinkish hue in his olive cheeks.

"…Okay, I'll be honest, too. I been thinkin' about goin' down on you even before I came to your office. I think about it a lot, actually. All the time. Fantasies, I guess they call 'em. It's all I thought of to-day. I even had to take a few…'bathroom' breaks…if ya know what I mean."

"I think I have an idea." Steinman clutched the jar fondly. "…I'm glad you brought this. You're a pretty big guy, and if everything's in proportion—"

"So…you wanna find out?" Ralph asked, standing back up. He stood in front of his lover, placing his hands on either side of his shoulders. The massive worker brought his pelvis forward a few inches. He stared down into John's brown eyes…hungry. Reaching downward, he clutched his groin, fondling himself. John stood, taking both of the worker's monstrous hands in his.

"Yes…yes, I do. Why don't we go to my bedroom, then, so I can?"

The dockhand grinned broadly. "That's an excellent idea, Johnny-cake."

The pair hurried down the short hall and into John's bedroom on the left. Upon entering, Ralph was instantly upon the doctor. He pushed the door shut behind them with a free hand, the other taking a strong grip on the back of John's neck as he kissed him roughly. He broke for only a moment to remove his boots and socks. John was a bit more subtle with his approach. He slowly stripped himself, discarding his raiment at the foot of the bed.

"You nervous, Johnny-boy?" chuckled Ralph.

"No," smiled Steinman. "But it _has_ been a while…"

"What'd you do before? Are you new?"

"Oh, I've taken."

"Really? Where?" asked Barsetti, with ample anticipation.

"Through the back door."

"Really? You've had one in the ass?"

"Quite a few times, actually. Have you, I mean…outside of prison?"

"I certainly have. But I did get a lot of trainin' there." His hands slid underneath Steinman's slacks, but were caught again almost as quickly. John stared up into his eyes.

"Can I trust you?"

"What are you talkin' 'bout?"

"Are you clean? You have any diseases or anything I should know about, do you?"

"No, man. I'm clean. I'd warn ya if there was anything wrong."

"But, you said you were raped in prison…multiple times. How do you know you didn't contract something from one of the inmates? How do _I_ know you didn't?"

Ralph shrugged. "I had my full physical when I joined the Navy. The docs there didn't find nothin' wrong with me. I think you'd also know if I had anything. We been seein' each other for, what, three weeks now?"

"…I suppose."

The dockhand reached up, stroking one of John's cheeks. "C'mon…lemme pleasure ya all night long. We both got to-morrow off, let's pull an all-nighter. Please?"

"…I certainly hope I can keep up."

John lay on top of Ralph, having finally regained his breath. He nuzzled against the worker's dark chest hair and the Navy tattoo. Barsetti ran his fingertips lightly down his lover's back, starting at the back of his neck and teasing all the way to his round buttocks.

"Man, oh man! I had no idea you were such a beast in the bedroom, Johnny. You're an animal!"

"…I've still got it," smirked Steinman. "You're certainly a whole lot of man to please."

"I'm a bear, I can't help it," Ralph shrugged cheekily.

"You certainly are…" concurred the surgeon, scratching at the dockhand's chest hair.

"You're hairless, aren'tcha, Johnny?" he commented, stroking his chest.

"Suppose I am. I never liked chest hair, on me, of course. I think it's more for muscular men, like you. Let's just say, with out technology down here, I took care of it some time ago."

"Aw, you shoulda left it. I like when men keep it. It's natural, you know?"

"Not on me," John sneered quickly. "But I like yours. It makes you look rugged, sexy."

"We Dagos are pretty hairy. Heh, it's also 'cuz I eat a lotta meat."

Steinman sat up a little farther, studying Ralph's neck.

"Somethin' wrong, pudding shot?"

The surgeon tenderly stroked a marking at the base of his neck.

"Aha, you found it," chuckled the dockhand. John smiled at yet another tattoo. It was two interlocking male symbols.

"You never told me about this one."

"I wanted it to be a surprise…if I ever got you in bed."

Steinman leaned in, gripping Ralph's lower jaw as he planted a firm kiss on his lips.

"…It was a nice surprise. Did you get that in prison?"

"Yep. My, um…a good buddy gave it to me."

"Was it your lover? The man you mentioned earlier?" enquired the doctor, stroking his cheek.

"…It don't matter now. You're the only one that matters."

"No kidding?" This time is was John's turn to ask.

"…No kiddin'," replied Barsetti. He could see his lover's eyes becoming slightly moist as he hugged his chest as tightly as he could.

"Thank you, Ralph. Thank you for everything."

"No…thank _you_."

Steinman nestled deep into the warm chest, heaving a great sigh. He rubbed one of his partner's pectoral muscles as he felt his eyelids sliding lower and lower. Both of the men fell asleep just as the sun would have been peering over the ocean.

Ralph woke up several hours later, greeted by the scent of a lavish breakfast. John wasn't cuddled up next to him, so it was obvious he was up and cooking. He abruptly sat up, pulling his trousers and undershirt on. Wandering out of John's room, he headed into the kitchen area, where he found Steinman busy at the stove.

"Hey, loverboy," he greeted.

"Good morning, Ralph! Well, actually, good afternoon," the doctor corrected himself playfully. They met half-way in a tender kiss.

"Whatcha cookin'?"

"What _aren't_ I cooking? I've got eggs, turkey bacon, hash browns, waffles, coffee, and freshly squeezed orange juice."

"You got any French toast?"

"I can make some, if you want it."

"Oh, I don't wanna make extra work for ya, if ya don't got it already," said Ralph.

"No, no, it's no trouble. If you want it, I'll make it," Steinman smiled.

Ralph chucked his chin. "You're sweet." They both looked down the next moment.

"…Is that your stomach growling?" John laughed.

"Of course! I'm starvin' after a long night of suckin' and strokin'."

His partner's cheeks went red.

"So…how'd you like last night?" Barsetti questioned, enveloping John in his arms, gently rocking them both. He lowered his voice to a very seductive, resonating mutter.

"Oh, Ralph…you can never begin to know."

"I'll take that as a 'good', eh?"

The surgeon nuzzled into his chest, giving him a squeeze. "Better than good. It was wonderful."

"Ditto. You got some sweet, sweet come, brother. Your pet name fits you perfectly."

"Oh…" John's face went beet red. "…Sit down and eat, you great big bear, you."

"Hang on a sec, I'm gonna hit the head," Ralph stated, hooking his thumb over his shoulder to the bathroom.

"Okay. I'll get everything set."

Barsetti made sure to grab a handful of his lover's arse before heading to the commode. After he had relieved himself, he ducked back into John's room, gathering his clothes into a pile. Once everything was in order, at least order enough for the worker, he turned to exit, however…something caught his eye. Gently tucked into the frame of John's dresser mirror was an older photo. Ralph curiously plucked it away, staring down at the two figures. One was clearly a younger Steinman. He had his arm around another man's shoulders…his friend had an arm around his waist. He was a clean-shaven and blonde, with horn-rimmed glasses, taller than John by a few inches. They were both dressed in smart suits and were standing in what struck Ralph as a college campus. He turned the photo over, reading what was scribbled there in elegant cursive.

John-

Thanks for everything. You made Med. School a lot less difficult…and a lot more fun.

Yours very truly,

Richard W. Clerkwell

Ralph noted that this Richard character took the liberty of drawing a heart at the bottom. It was even anatomically correct. He wondered how Steinman could go from another educated doctor to an uneducated stevedore with a criminal past.

"Ralph? Are you alright?" Steinman enquired, entering his room.

"…I was."

"What do you mean?"

Barsetti mournfully handed him the photo. "…Who's the stud?"

John's face flushed as he stared down at the photograph in his hands. "Er…h-he was a friend. From school."

"Your boyfriend, eh?"

"…Yes. We were very close."

"Was he your first?"

John took a second or two to answer. "…Yes. He was my first real relationship with another man. He also took my virginity."

"…He's cute."

"I suppose he _was_ very handsome…"

"'S he dead?"

"No, just back on the surface."

"You didn't wanna stay with him?"

"Well…no. We sort of had a falling out, with regards to our relationship. He was a year ahead of me in school when we met. He was going for podiatry, but he switched his major to orthopaedics when we became more acquainted…so he could be closer to me."

"…That's cute."

John forced a weak smile. "When he graduated, he got his own place and invited me to move in with him. Well, he was always working and I was always busy finishing up my schoolwork, so, we barely had any time for each other. We began having numerous disagreements and…" he paused. "…I got my own apartment and a very good position at the college itself, better than his, and I guess perhaps he was a bit jealous. We stopped seeing each other for a year or so. When I graduated, he attended the ceremony and we sort of buried the hatchet. We became good friends again after that, but, then I was invited to Rapture. I immediately accepted Ryan's invitation, seeing as I couldn't do the things on the surface that I could down here. I, er, also didn't tell Richard anything about it. I didn't tell anyone about it. Just before coming here, I saw an advertisement in the paper. Richard was offering a large sum of money to a detective who could locate me. I er, I kept it." He opened a top drawer, rummaging through it. Eventually, he found a yellowed clipping which he handed to Ralph. "I suppose, thus ends my tale."

"…He's gotta lotta nice things to say about you. Callin' you a 'magician' and 'a genius' and stuff."

Steinman chuckled. "Richard always thought I was the better surgeon. He'd always say 'John, you're younger than I am, and you're still more experienced'."

Ralph placed it back on the dresser, slipping his hands in his pockets. He stared at the ad with sorrow. "You still got feelings for him?"

"I suppose I do miss him a bit, yes. I miss my friends, family, and colleagues."

"Do ya ever think about him when you…ya know…jack off?"

John clutched the collar of his robe. "…I have before."

"…Did ya think about him at all last night? When you were with me? Did you, ya know…pretend it was him?"

John smiled, wrapping his arms around Ralph's waist. "…No. I can honestly say I didn't. I thought only about you, and to a lesser extent, how nervous I was. And how I was finally getting some after all those years," he lowered his voice. "Besides…Richard never sucked my dick."

"You sure? Because, if you still love him or if there's the slightest chance you're gonna see him again, I'll—"

Steinman stood on his toes, planting a quick peck on Barsetti's lips. "I hardly think there's any chance I'll see him again. I moved on a long time ago, with regards to our intimacy. I sort of knew when I left him that we were probably never going to be partners again. Friends, maybe, but not partners."

The dockhand grinned, stroking one of John's cheeks. The doctor nuzzled against his hand like a cat.

"Good. Because I'm _majorly_ crushin' on you."

"I feel the same right back at you." They kissed again. "C'mon, breakfast is getting cold."

John pulled a light jacket onto his shoulders. "I have to run some errands to-day, Ralph. Would you be interested in coming with?"

"Sure, I'll tag along," agreed his lover. "I'll do anything, as long as it's with you."

"Aw," Steinman patted his cheek playfully. "Listen to you. Spending all this time with me is making you soft."

"Actually, it's makin' me hard," retorted Ralph. The surgeon shot him a wry face in response. "Just playin' with ya. Where've ya got to go, John?"

"I have to run down to the Aesthetic Ideals. You don't mind, do you?"

"Nope."

"I just have to pick up a few papers to finish this month's finances. We won't be long."

"Take as much time as you need, pudding cup," shrugged Ralph. Steinman kissed him on the cheek.

"You're sweet. Ready to go?"

"Yep. Lead the way."

"Good afternoon, Petunia!" Dr. Steinman greeted as he and Ralph entered the Surgical Savings room.

"Oh, good afternoon, Doctor. I thought you were taking to-day off?"

"I am. I just came down to get the figures for this month."

"I've got a few filed here, sir. This month, correct?"

"Excellent! The rest are probably in my office."

"Here they are, s—" Before the young receptionist could finish her sentence, she caught sight of the tall, burly dockworker. Barsetti removed his cap politely, smiling at her.

"…Oh! Of course, where are my manners? Ralph, this is one of my favourite workers, Petunia Whitehead. Petunia, this is my good friend Ralph Barsetti. You both have seen each other so much, it's about time you were properly introduced."

"I'm sure she remembers me, I'm only here all the time. The first time we met, when I first came down here, I was kind of a jerk to her. Which I'm still sorry for, by the way, Miss."

"…It's fine."

"Ralph's an excellent worker and a wonderful friend. Keep that in mind, Petunia. Not everyone who lives in Apollo Square is a criminal. Come on, Ralph, I just need a few more things from my office."

The worker nodded to the receptionist, who still eyed him rather suspiciously. As soon as they were out of sight, Ralph reached down and goosed Steinman.

"Ralph! Please, I'm in the workplace," laughed the surgeon.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself."

"Behave," the doctor commanded, unlocking his office.

"Say, I'm kinda hungry. S'there a concession stand around here somewhere?"

"There's a vending machine around the corner. You can get some potato chips or something if you want."

"Cool, thanks. Just around the corner here?"

"Yes, outside the foyer. Petunia will show you."

"Alright, cool. Be right back."

Steinman rifled through his desk, whistling as he gathering the papers he needed. He heard brisk, heavy footsteps coming towards his office. Just assuming it was Ralph confused about the directions, he couldn't have been further from the truth.

"Aha! Dr. Steinman…I've gotta bone to pick with you!" The voice belonged to an average-sized man who very obviously abused ADAM. He strode towards him with a purpose, eyes narrowed. "You told me you weren't in to-day and that I had to reschedule. And now, here you are! This was the only day this week that I had free! What kinda business are you runnin' down here?!"

"I do have the day off to-day, Lorenzo. I'm down here on financial business."

"Look at this growth!" The man pulled down his collar, exposing a baseball-sized benign protrusion on his neck. "Hideous! How am I supposed to carry out business meetings when I look like some sort of monster?"

"I'm entitled to time off just as much as the next man, Lorenzo. I'll remove it on Thursday, like we planned."

"You're here now, you're a skilled surgeon, why don't you just do it? I have the money up front."

"That's not how it works, Lorenzo."

In the next moment, Ralph came around the corner, shoving the rest of a crème-filled cake into his mouth. He stopped dead in his tracks in the doorframe, listening to the belligerent client.

"I am a busy man, Steinman. _Very_ busy. I'm also an important man. _Very_ important. I need to look my best at all times. How am I supposed to get anywhere in this town if you won't do your—" Lorenzo hollered as he was lifted off the ground. Ralph bent him over the desk, straddling him out of dominance, not passion.

"_Nobody_ talks to Dr. Steinman like that…"

"G-Get off me, get off me!" Lorenzo stammered, beginning to hyperventilate.

"Steinman is a brilliant surgeon! He was invited down here personally by Mr. Ryan! Where's your invitation, guy?"

"I didn't get one—"

"What was that?"

"I didn't get one."

"Louder!"

"I DIDN'T GET ONE!"

"Damn right, you didn't," Ralph hissed through gritted teeth. "Now you listen to me and you listen up good. I don't wanna hear you bad-mouthin' Dr. Steinman ever again, you got that? Not here, not on the streets, not in the bar, nowhere. And if I do…oh, man…you're gonna wish you stayed on the surface, _capiche_?"

"_Sie, sie, capisco, capisco_!" agreed the client hurriedly.

Ralph eased off the terrified man. He seised a handful of his shirt collar, dragging him to the exit. "Oh, and he'll see you on Thursday." With one hand only, he tossed Lorenzo out of the Aesthetic Ideals. "_Lasciare_!" he thundered as the man took off down the tunnel. Barsetti dusted his shoulders off. Petunia stuck her head out of the doorway, curious. Nodding curtly to her as he passed, he headed back towards Steinman's office.

"There ya go, Johnny. He won't be givin' you any more trouble any time soon," laughed the worker, cracking his knuckles as he stepped into the office. Steinman's face was a deep crimson, his mouth a firm line.

"Uh…somethin' wrong, John?"

"What was that?!"

"Um…I was gettin' rid of him?"

"You threw him out of my business, didn't you? You physically _threw_ him!"

"Well, yeah. He wasn't gonna leave otherwise."

The surgeon tugged on his hair, growling as he tried to keep his anger from spreading. "What-I-What makes you think you can do that to people?!"

"Hey, I gotta right to protect me and my own! You're my own, and I don't want freaks like him messin' with you."

"Ralph, I can fight my own battles. And I certainly wouldn't do it with physical force. It's unprofessional!"

"Heh, you sure you can fight 'em? That uppity cunt—"

Steinman gave him a stern look.

"…That uppity—jackass—was all up in your face. He don't know what it's like to be a surgeon and do everything you do. He deserved what he got. I'm glad I was here to show 'em who's boss!"

"You don't understand, Ralph! You can't just abuse my clients, no matter how rude they get! I'm not going to tolerate—"

"I love you!"

Dr. Steinman was silenced immediately. He stared up at his big lover, who crossed his arms over his chest, averting his eyes.

"…Ralph…I understand what you're trying to do, but please…don't. If you hung over my shoulder during one of my workdays, you'd be throwing people out left and right. I'd have no business."

Barsetti looked guilty, lowering his head shamefully.

"Most of the people who come in here have the same attitude as Lorenzo. I've learned how to handle people like them, at least tolerate them. But I'm warning you…if you're going to man-handle my clients, you won't be allowed back here. Is that clear?"

"Um…well…sure, John. If that's what you want."

"It's what I want." Try as he may, Steinman found it difficult to stay mad at those big, blue eyes.

"…I have everything, we can leave now. How about we stop for lunch, eh? My treat?"

"If we're goin' out, I don't think so. Either you're cookin' or I'm buyin'. That's the rules."

"We'll see about that, you big brute. Come on, I have to lock up."

"…Thought you'd be at least a _little_ grateful…" Barsetti said to himself as he followed Steinman out of the Aesthetic Ideals.

John lay cuddled into Ralph's chest, stroking one of his pectorals slowly. Barsetti tousled his lover's hair gently with one hand.

"Hey, John? You 'wake?"

"Yes, Ralph. But I'm so cozy, I just _might _fall asleep any moment now."

"Oh, well…I just wanted to tell you that these two days have been some of the best of my life. You know, I've had a lotta people mistreat me, and it's been even harder tryin' to find a guy I like and who won't use me or ditch me. That's been real hard because they usually do either…or both."

John sat up, staring into Ralph's eyes.

"…I really, really, really like you, John. You're patient, caring, attractive, and you're one damn good cook. I know I'm probably not what you expected, but I hope you're happy being boyfriends. I think I can make you satisfied mentally…and physically."

"…What a nice thing to say, Ralph. I feel the same way about you. I've met quite a few people down here, many who are wealthy and that whole bit, but I've never found anyone, as my grandmother used to put it, 'that I liked better than myself'. I'm glad I met you. The saying is true: you really can't judge a book by its cover." Steinman smiled kindly, nuzzling back down into Ralph's broad chest. "…And I think we can use the term 'lovers', now. Boyfriends sounds too…light."

Barsetti grinned, hugging the surgeon to his body as tightly as he could. "So, John, I been meanin' to ask ya…you into anything kinky?"

"Hm?"

"You got any fetishes or anything? You like bein' tied-up, tyin' the other guy up, three-ways?"

"Oh, gosh, no! No, none of that," Steinman laughed, blushing furiously.

"No? Nothin'?"

"Not really. Do you?"

"…I don't mind bein' man-handled. You can hit me, slap me around, I don't care. Ooh, and I like nipple-play. Bitin' 'em or pinchin' 'em usually works best."

"I'll have to remember that." Steinman was quiet for a moment. "…Okay, I have a confession."

"Yeah, man! Tell me."

"I've sort of…okay, don't laugh at me or anything—"

"I won't, babe. Go on…"

"…I've sort of had this fantasy…about surgery—"

The colour drained from Ralph's face.

"It's not what you think, it's not what you think!" laughed the doctor. "Not like _actual_ surgery or anything…I would just like to have sex in my gown, gloves, boots…I don't know. I just think it would be…incredibly hot."

"Would ya want me to wear the same thing?"

The surgeon groaned dramatically. "Don't even get me started. You, in a medical coat? Oh, wow…"

"Hey, you gotta coat that'll fit me, I'll wear it, if ya want me to."

"I'll look first thing to-morrow at the Ideals. I'm incredibly aroused by medical uniforms."

The couple stayed quiet for a moment, picturing the other engaged in their respected fetishes.

"Oh, Ralphie?"

"Yeah, Johnny?"

"…I'm er…in the mood now."

"Oh?"

"Yes. But I have to get up for work to-morrow, so, if we're going to do anything, we should start soon. _Very_ soon."

"I don't need convincin'," chuckled the dockhand, already pulling his undershirt over his head. The second he dropped it to the floor, John went to him. He planted his lips firmly on Barsetti's, ruffling his dark hair roughly.

"Ooh, ooh! I like this!" laughed Ralph. The surgeon gripped one of his hefty shoulders tightly. He began rubbing his groin against his lover's, groaning sensually.

"Easy there, tiger, easy…easy!"

Steinman's kisses trailed down his neck. The stevedore reeled in the gentle caress from his soft moustache.

"Hey…you wanna maybe take this into the bedroom, babe?"

"…I do."

*The pair hurriedly rose from the sofa, retiring as they had the night before. Steinman pulled off his cardigan, Ralph working on his belt and slacks.

"Teamwork, eh?" the surgeon chuckled.

"It takes two…" Ralph replied. John smiled slyly, unbuttoning the last on his shirt. He let it slide from his shoulders as his lover moved in. The big dockhand kissed his chest, gripping his waist. He moved down to one of his nipples, biting it tenderly. Steinman ran his fingers through Barsetti's thick, black hair, the other hand stroking the gritty stubble on his face.

"You got some nice nips, Doc." He lowered to his knees. "…But I wanna suck on somethin' a little more…fulfilling, if you catch my drift."

Without a word, John slid his pants down, but kept his undergarments on. Ralph eyed the bulge beneath the cotton hungrily.

"C'mon, Johnny! Whatcha waitin' for? Your boys wanna be turned loose, anyone can see that. C'mon!"

The surgeon backed up to his mattress, slipping underneath the blankets. He pulled his briefs out, tossing them to the floor.

"Well…come get 'em, then."

Barsetti ditched his bottoms, releasing his hard, throbbing cock. He slid in after his partner, reinitiating their kiss. His kisses trailed from his lips, down to his neck, over his chest, down his stomach, and ended just before his prick.

"Actually, John?" Ralph muttered, lifting his head.

"Yes, Ralph?"

"…Will you let me inside ya to-night?"

"You mean orally?"

Barsetti shook his head. "Nah…" he gently tapped his lover's rear. "…Back here."

Steinman averted his eyes.

"Please? It'll be nice, I promise. I'm good at givin'. I been practisin' a lot over the years."

It was a long, slightly frustrating time before the surgeon gave his answer.

"…Here," Steinman opened a drawer on his bedside table. He pulled out one of the condoms. "Put this on and I'm all yours."

Ralph frowned. "You're not gonna make me wear this, are ya? Maybe if you were a dame, but—"

"I want to be safe, Ralph."

"Are you sayin' I got diseases?"

"I'm just careful."

"I told you. I don't got any diseases. I got gonorrhea from another guy in prison, but I took my meds and got better. The docs at the Naval base checked me out. They wouldn't have let me join up if I had somethin'."

Steinman stared harshly at him. "…You never told me you had gonorrhea."

"Well, no, because I don't have it now. This was years ago, back in '40. And even if I did have somethin' and gave it to you, think about all the medicine and stuff we got down here. Don't they have that shot for STDs?"

"…I suppose. But I wouldn't want my image to be tarnished if I contracted something and everyone found out. That would be bad for business and for my personal life."

"Well, I don't have anything, Mr. Important." Ralph crossed his arms over his broad chest, staring obstinately at the wall. "And frankly, you're missin' out."

Steinman propped himself up as well, staring down at the footboard.

"Well, alrighty, then." Ralph, in defiance, got cozy. He reached down, taking his cock in both hands, stroking it tenderly. He groaned, shutting his eyes.

"Mm, this is gonna be a big load, I can tell…" he stated. "Gonna drench my chest…"

John anxiously drummed his fingers on the blanket he was clutching on his stomach.

"Good 'n creamy…yeah…"

His fingers drummed faster.

Ralph caught a bit of his slowly dripping come on his finger. He offered the clear, stringy patch to his bedmate. "…Want some?"

John was now gripping the blanket as tightly as he could.

"No? Okay then…" he sucked it clean, returning to his ministrations. "…Butcha don't know whatcher missiiiiiin'."

The surgeon bit his lip, staring hungrily at Barsetti's red, throbbing cock.

"Mmph, the boys are churnin'—"

"Ralph?"

Grinning, the worker opened one eye, staring at his lover.

"…I want it."

"Without the sleeve?"

"…Without the condom," agreed Steinman, reluctantly.

"John, trust me. I _promise_ I don't have anything. I _promise_ you won't get a disease."

"…You promise?"

"With one hand on the Good Book."

"I don't believe in any god," John retorted.

"…Then I promise on my ma's grave. Whether she's passed or not."

Steinman smiled, tossing the blanket off. Ralph lurched up, hovering over him.

"Wait…Ralph?"

"Yeah, Johnny?"

"…Will you be gentle with me?"

The worker smiled kindly. "Baby doll, I'll be as gentle as you want me to be."

"…At least until I get back into the swing of things."

"Whatever you want, Johnny."


	6. Phase 6

Phase 6-May, 1958

Petunia looked up from her work as she heard the automatic doors part. Dr. Steinman appeared, whistling to himself, as par usual.

"Good morning, Petunia!" he said cheerfully, ducking into Surgical Savings to greet her.

"Good morning…Dr…?" she said, her voice trailing off slightly. Continuing with his song, he limped lightly, making for his office. She hurried to the doorway.

"Dr. Steinman! Are you alright?"

"I'm wonderful! Why do you ask?"

"Er…no reason," she answered hesitantly.

Steinman closed the door to his office, tossing his kit on the desk. He collapsed into the chair, sighing with utter contentment. He took careful consideration of his rear.

"…Wow…I'd forgotten how good it feels," he said to himself, closing his eyes as he reclined slightly. "And Ralph's a monster. I took him well; I'm proud of myself." The surgeon squirmed a bit, trying to find a position that wouldn't aggravate his throbbing rear. "For such a big brute, he can sure be gentle when he wants to. He's practiced."

Moments later, Petunia interrupted his recollection by entering his office.

"I have your schedule for to-day, Dr. Steinman, sir."

"What've we got, Petunia, my dear?"

"You've got a nine, ten, and eleven o'clock consultation, a two o'clock growth removal, and a five-thirty breast augmentation."

"Ugh…not looking forward to that," groaned the doctor subtly. "Anything more, Petunia?"

"That's all, sir. I'll let you know if anything changes. Oh! Mrs. Kensington called. She wanted to reschedule her appointment. She was supposed to come in on Wednesday, but she doesn't think she can make it."

"Did she schedule a new date?"

"She said Thursday would work out better. I booked her for a four o'clock."

"Ah. Alright, then. Thank you, my dear," he sighed, closing his eyes once more.

"Er, Dr. Steinman?"

"Yes?"

"If I may…are you feeling alright this morning?"

"I already answered that, silly," he chuckled. "I'm wonderful! How are you?"

"I guess I can't complain."

"Am I acting strangely?"

"Well…you're a bit…" she searched for the word. "…I want to say giddier? Than usual."

"Well, I have reason to be. I'm in a very good mood," he said, flashing her a neat smile.

"I suppose that's good to hear. Good luck to-day, sir," she said, making to depart.

"Luck has nothing to do with it, dear."

Barsetti whistled merrily out loud as he hacked the head off of a sea bass, splitting its belly with the next stroke of his blade. Snub approached him, tying a yellow vinyl apron around his waist.

"Listen to you. You're sure in a good mood."

"You betcher ass I am, Snub!" laughed the big worker, tugging the pink intestines from the fish.

"Noticed you were gone all weekend…"

"And?"

"…With your boyfriend?"

Ralph laughed heartily, slapping the sea bass down with the rest of the recently cleaned ones. "Actually…Steinman said the word 'partners' would suit us better."

"So, things are gettin' serious with him, then, eh?"

"Oh, baby…"

"Eh, you can spare me the details," chuckled Snub, waving him off. "Just remember, though…Fontaine sent you on an assignment. Don't let him down, or you'll be in somethin' deep."

"Oh, don't you worry, Snubsy. If I keep workin' at the rate I am now, I'll be so close to Ryan, I'll be able to put his ankles on my shoulders."

"Think someone's already beat ya to it," the other worker said, nodding to a poster advertising Eve's Garden.

"Eh, whatever. He's not who I'm crushin' on," Ralph shrugged, smiling as he recalled the weekend.

"Uh oh," Snub said.

The bigger worker sighed, leaning back against a crate as he stared upward, at nothing in particular.

"Ralphie, don't get too attached, man. Remember, Fontaine—"

"Sent me to do a job, I know, I know!" Ralph finished his sentence. "But I can't help it! You know, I thought I'd meet up with him, we'd get a couple drinks, he'd take me to a few parties, you know, real 'whir-slur-thank you-sir' business, but…it's not like that. It's not like that at all. I think he really cares about me. He's always offerin' to cook for me, he listens to me real close and encourages me to talk about stuff…Dr. Steinman's a good guy. I truly think so."

Snub chose a fish from the pile, setting to work on it with his knife. "You talk to Fontaine at all lately?"

"No, I uh, I gotta go up there on my lunch hour."

"Got anything for him?"

Ralph grinned innocently, shrugging his great shoulders. His friend fancied him with a mildly disgruntled stare. "I uh…don't really have much. I was a bit distracted by—"

"Ralphie—"

"Hey, hey, don't worry about it. I'm gettin' closer with Steinman, which means I'm closer to party invites, which means I'll be closer to Ryan. Don't worry, Snub. Everythin's comin' up roses, I promise."

The phone rang out in the hallway. Ralph immediately threw down the magazine he was skimming through and dashed out the door. He shoved another worker reaching for the receiver down to the floor, answering it.

"Ralph speakin'—"

"Good! It's you!" Dr. Steinman replied.

"Hey! How's it goin'?" Ralph instantly got comfortable in the chair, propping his feet up on the table.

"Asshole…" the other worker muttered, picking himself up.

Barsetti covered the receiver, making a start at the shorter, skinnier worker. The man instantly took off down the hall.

"That's what I thought…sorry 'bout that, pudding cup. So, how was your day?"

"Ugh, long, a bit unpleasant."

"Why so?"

"Well…let's just say I had to work on a woman this afternoon."

"Oh, somethin' with her chest?"

"You got it."

"Eh. That must suck."

"I swear, I get nauseous every time! I guess it _is_ money though."

"S'ppose," Ralph shrugged to himself.

"And how was your day, honeybear?"

"Eh, same old shit, different day. Had to gut fish, so I smell like low-tide."

"A good thing I'm not over there?" laughed Steinman.

"I don't think this would turn you on. I won't go into detail. Ugh…I had to go back to eatin' worker's rations again." He rubbed his eyes with frustration.

"No good?"

"You kiddin'? Goin' from your food to the stuff here is like eatin' outta the trash."

"Aw, I'm flattered."

"It's true." Ralph sighed, sitting up and leaning closer over the phone. "I really did have a great weekend with you, though, babe. You sure know how to make a guy feel good."

"Me? I can't even begin to describe how wonderful I felt underneath you! It's been so long, I nearly forgot how much I…enjoyed it."

"Yeah? You a bottom?"

"I suppose I usually was. I don't mind…especially with you. You _do_ know what you're doing."

"Oh, stop," Ralph said bashfully.

"…My backside was sore for most of the day. It just started tapering off a little while ago."

"Oh, you okay, Johnny-boy?" asked Ralph, a bit concerned. "Did I hurt ya?"

"Don't worry, I'm more than okay. Mm, I loved it."

"I loved it too, especially when I got to drink your spunk."

"Oh, stop it! Don't get gross," giggled the surgeon.

"You know you like it when I talk dirty to ya. I loved takin' your c—"

"Hey, Ralph?"

The worker shut his mouth, turning toward the new voice.

"Um…c-can I use the phone? I gotta call my dentist; this tooth's killin' me," another dockhand lamented, massaging his cheek.

"Oh, uh, yeah…sure. Listen I gotta go, babe. When can I see ya next?"

"I'm free to-morrow after four," the doctor answered.

"I'm workin' until seven. I'll stop by when I get off."

"I'd love it."

"Good. I'm glad you called. See ya then, pudding cup."

"Bye, honeybear."

Ralph hung up the phone, vacating so his ailing mate could go about his business.

"Ooh, got yourself a girlfriend, Ralphie?" the worker said, rubbing his jaw as he took a seat.

"…Somethin' like that," chuckled Barsetti.

"Good for you," answered his friend, dialing.

"Hey, Johnny," Ralph said slyly.

"Yes, Ralphie?"

"…Let's you and me arm wrestle," grinned the dockhand. Steinman frowned.

"Fat chance! You can lift three times what I can and you want me to arm wrestle…the nerve!"

"I'll go easy on ya."

"I'll pass, thanks."

"C'mon, just _try_ it."

"No!"

"C'mon, I'll even use my left hand. It's got the missin' finger and no feeling," he said, displaying it for him. "That, and I'll let you use both hands and your elbows don't have to be on the table."

"You wouldn't let me have all these handicaps if you knew I stood a chance against you," sniffed the surgeon.

"C'mon, tough-guy. C'monnn…" he teased lightly and playfully. "You know you want to…even if it's just to man-handle my arm. I'll even take my shirt off so you can see, and feel, everything."

Before Steinman could reply, Ralph had already stripped himself of his sweater.

"There, that's better."

The doctor blushed, staring dreamily at his lover's torso.

"So? Whaddaya say now, Johnny-boy?"

"Hm…take off the undershirt and I'll try it…"

Ralph shrugged with a smile, pulling it over his head. The surgeon groaned sensually at the sight of the bare, rippling muscle.

"You always talk about how lucky Richard must have been with me, how about all the other men that have been near or with _you_? They get to touch all those muscles…"

"Alright then, hotshot. Why don't you give these muscles a try?" He offered one of his huge hands, setting his elbow on the table-top.

"…Fine. I accept." Steinman removed his sweater, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. He casually flicked his tie over his shoulder, placing both of his elbows on the table and gripping Ralph's meaty hand.

"On three, ready?"

"Ready."

"One…two…three!"

John put forth all of his strength, pushing on Ralph's palm. The dockhand sat nonchalantly across the table, a smirk on his rugged face as he watched his smaller lover. Steinman looked up at him, frustration and determination both in his eyes. He tried once more, grunting as he exerted more force. Barsetti used a bit more muscle, moving the surgeon's arms steadily back. John struggled, eyes growing a bit wider. When his knuckles almost grazed the table, he ground his teeth together. With a renewed vigour, he threw all the force he could muster against the brute's arm. He managed to get Ralph's hand back up to a starting position. He chanced a look at the huge arm he was up against. Veins rose from his forearm, like intricate circuit wiring. His biceps and triceps bulged from underneath his skin. Temporarily distracted, he continued to press forward, forcing his partner's hand towards the opposite end of the table. So focused on beating his brutish lover, he hadn't noticed his opponent's arm slackening and his knuckles hitting the surfaces. Ralph laughed heartily as John kept his grip, cocking his head lightly.

"…I-I don't understand…I won?"

"My hand's on the table, ain't it?"

Steinman looked up into the hard blue eyes.

"…I beat you? Me? I beat a muscular brute like you at arm wrestling?"

"Hey, watch that 'muscular brute' stuff. Just because I'm big don't mean I don't got feelin's."

The surgeon smiled weakly, trying to combat the stiffness of his arms. Ralph chuckled as John shook out one of his hands, grimacing.

"Didn't hurt ya, did I, baby doll?"

"No…I just had to use all of my strength to combat you."

"You're pretty strong, Johnny. You sure you don't do any benchin'?"

"Oh, well, I'm not nearly as strong as you."

"I suppose not, but, you're still a lot stronger than I pegged ya at first. You surprised me."

The worker took one of Steinman's hands, stroking it gently with his thumb. John smiled up at him, rubbing the tattoos of the cards suites on his knuckles.

"…You know, it's funny. This finger is the one with the heart on it and it's also the one that's wrecked. I figured that meant that I'd never find love."

John interlocked his fingers with Ralph's. "…It just goes to show. But you let me win, didn't you?"

The brute shrugged. "I wanna suck cock. You up for it?"

"Well…" Steinman said. "…Of course I am!"

"Alright!" laughed Barsetti as he hurried up from the table. "Where you want me? Sofa, bed, chair?"

"Sofa's fine."

"Ooh, adventurous."

"It's _my _sofa, after all."

"Very true." Ralph lumbered over to the sofa, lowering to his knees.

"Let me use the bathroom first, love."

"I'll be here," Ralph said with a seductive smile, nudging a few strands of hair from his forehead.

After relieving himself, John returned, his belt unbuckled and his pants open.

"You wanna sit or stand, cookie?"

"I think I'll sit for this one," he replied, sliding his slacks down and getting comfortable on the sofa. Ralph placed his hands on his lover's hips, inching closer.

"You want me to swallow it? Or would would ya prefer creamin' all over my face or chest?"

"Whatever you're in the mood for, honeybear," shrugged Steinman.

"…I'll surprise you," he said, leaning down.


	7. Phase 7

Phase 7-June, 1958

"Good evening, Ralph!" Steinman exclaimed as he opened the door.

"There's my boy! Hey, Johnny! How ya doin'?"

"…Better, now. I was getting awfully bored." He frowned, though. "…I thought I told you never to bring this jacket into my home again."

"Oh, c'mon!" Ralph said, hanging up his cap.

"Ugh! I meant that, Ralph."

"Fine." The worker let it drop to the floor, underneath the coat-rack. "Good enough?"

Steinman still sneered with disgust. Ralph stuck his tongue out in defiance.

"What've you brought with you?" the surgeon enquired, peering at whatever was tucked under the dockworker's arm.

"Oh, I uh, brought somethin' I kinda wanted to show you. If that's okay, I mean."

"What is it?"

"Take a seat and you'll see."

They got comfortable on the sofa, right up next to each other. Barsetti sighed lightly.

"Okay…you may or may not find this interesting, but it's important to me and I wanna share it with you. It's a family photo album. It's uh, one of the only things I brought from the surface and the only really important thing to me. I guard this with my life."

"I'm sure you do. I'd love to see it," Steinman nodded, smiling.

"…I'm glad. Us Italians are all about family." Ralph cleared his throat lightly, opening the leather-bound album. "This is my grandparent's wedding photo. They got married in Palermo in 1890. They came over to America in 1901. This is another one of them, I don't think I know the year, though. I should've asked. Here's some more of them, this one they're with my great-uncle. Aw…" he paused fondly for a moment. "…See this gorgeous lady here? That's my mama."

"Ooh, she _is_ pretty. I can see the resemblance, absolutely. You look just like her!"

"Yeah. That's what everyone says. God, I miss her. I miss my family. If there's one thing else you gotta know about me, it's that I was a total mama's boy. Still am. I would do _anything_ for my ma. _Anything_."

"Anything?"

"Did I stutter? She was an angel. Worked her ass off, was an incredible cook, raised us kids…" Ralph kissed the fingertips of one hand, touching the photo. "Hey…" The stevedore tapped another portrait. "Guess who that is."

"You?" giggled Steinman.

"Sure is. That's me when I was a baby."

"Aw. That's not bad…but I think you're much cuter now."

"What, this big ugly mug?"

"You're not ugly, Ralph. We've been over this a thousand times."

"You need to get your glasses fixed. Here's me, my brother Tony, and my sister Addy. Couple of cousins, too. My immediate family didn't have a camera, so I had to get a lot of pictures from my relatives. That's where these came from."

"You and your brother look a lot alike. I knew right away you two were related."

"Eh, he's got softer features. He's much prettier than I am. Heh, Antonio Barsetti…what a Wop name. You know, I actually changed my name a while ago. My real name was actually Raul McMorton, but kinda like you, I didn't like it. I always got teased in school. In the Navy and after the war, I just went by Ralph, which was what it is in like every other language. I also started usin' my ma's name the same time. I didn't want my dad's name anymore. I've been Ralph Barsetti since forty-one. I didn't want my old life on the surface to follow me here." He pointed fondly to a large photo opposite that one. "Here's my life…my family." It was Ralph, his siblings, and his mother together. "I was eighteen, my brother was nineteen, and my sister was fifteen." The following page bore a long photo; a large group of dark, happy-looking people all with their arms around each other. "This was my ma's side of the family. At least, the ones that lived in Chicago. Some are still back in Sicily." He could identify all of them flawlessly. John smiled, rolling his eyes.

"Alright, alright. Hold on. I'll be back." After ducking into his room, he returned with a small book in hand. Getting comfortable, he opened it up, placing his glasses on his nose. Ralph chuckled.

"That you?"

"Yes. That's me, age three."

"It looks like you gotta dress on."

"Told you it was always obvious that I was homosexual," Steinman smiled, looking out over the top of his spectacles.

"What year was that taken?"

"Well, if I was three, it would have been 1919."

"Do you remember the war or anything?"

John laughed, pushing his big friend. "No! I was three for god's sake! You make it sound like I was drafted!"

"Well hey! You're smart, I figured, you know—"

"No, no. This was right after we moved to our house in Manhattan." He flipped the page. "Ooh! This is the interior of my father's bakery."

"…All those cakes and stuff are makin' me hungry," Ralph commented.

"I made a pan of brownies earlier to-day. They're in the oven still."

He had to wait a moment while Ralph piled a small plate with brownies. The next few pages were mainly Steinman and his family in the bakery working. One photo in particular managed to make him stop in his tracks, a wedge of brownie halfway to his mouth. It was John's high school senior photo. Just eighteen, Steinman had his hair styled more or less the same way, swept back from his forehead. A pair of round-framed glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose. His face was free from acne or blemishes and his cheekbones weren't as defined as they were currently. Barsetti reeled in how handsome he looked.

"Well? Do I still look as handsome?"

"…Pardon my French, but, my dick is so hard right now…"

"You know, I was voted 'Most Likely to Become a Doctor'."

"I can't imagine why. Oh man…" the stevedore groaned, leaning back on the sofa.

"I've told you before not to eat so fast—"

"Nah, not my belly. A little lower." He gripped his erection to prove his point. "Damn, are you sexy."

"…I try," Steinman said with a wink, squeezing one of Ralph's knees quickly. "But, that's really all I have in this album. Why don't we continue with yours?"

"Okay." Ralph flipped to the next page, immediately slamming the former back down.

"What? What's wrong?"

"…Nothin', nothin', it's just…nothin'. Can't believe I still have this."

"I want to see, Ralph," John said with a smile. "I won't judge you or laugh or anything."

Barsetti grimaced, turning back the page. On the left side was a large photo depicting several men grouped around a table. Most were wearing suits, those that weren't were clad in leather or abused jackets, Ralph being one of them.

"…This was, um…me…and the mob. Well, only some of the mob. A real little bit."

"…Oh," Steinman nodded. "That explains why you were so loath to show me." He studied the photo closely. "If it's any consolation, I think you look very handsome."

"…Really?"

"Yes. You look tough, powerful…sexy. Did you do anything besides sell drugs?"

"I extorted business owners and such. You know, tried to get 'em to pay us for protection and so we could run rackets in their stores. I did that before mulein'. I was also one of the guys they used for prizefights against other mobs."

"Ooh. How many did you win?"

"Eh, don't get too excited. I don't really know much about boxin' or anything. The ones I was in were pretty much the bosses pickin' out the biggest guy they had to fight. I wasn't even the biggest guy at the time. I didn't get big until prison. I had a couple wins, more losses."

On the other side of the page was a photo of Ralph and another man leaning against a Buick Eight.

"Uh oh," John said, pointing to the unidentified man. "…Who's this?"

Ralph shrugged. "Guy I used to work with in the mob. His name was Gino Cavallo. …He was queer, too."

"And how do we know this?"

"He tried to get with me. We were stayin' at a hotel, me and a buncha the guys. We had to take a trip to Jersey to pick up somethin' for the boss, and we were stayin' in the same room. When we were all settled in that night, after we shared a cigarette on the balcony, he told me there was a reason why he started callin' me 'Pretty Boy'. That was one of the guys' nicknames for me, and he started it. Then he sorta, put his arm around me. He said 'Noticed you didn't flinch'. I said 'I don't flinch for no man', and he said '…that's one of the things I like about you, Ralphie. You gotta good head on your shoulders. You know where your priorities lie and you don't take shit from no one'. Then he pulled me back into the room. He reached up, you know, 'cause I was taller than him, and he kissed me. On the lips; all tender-like. He said he'd had his eye on me since the day the boss accepted me. He said he wanted to do more with me, but, not until the divorce he was gettin' was finished. He was married to a lady, but they had been unhappy together for years. Gino was a real gentleman; he tried to court me just like he would've a dame. Always askin' if he could hold my hand or put his arm around me or kiss me or somethin'. We slept in the same bed that night. We cuddled, he kissed me a little bit, nothin' sloppy. He wanted me in the worst way."

"…Sounds like a nice guy. Aside from being a gangster. You didn't want to be with him?"

"I guess I sorta…did. But I didn't at the same time. We knew we'd both catch hell if anyone in the mob knew about us, and they were all over the place. That's why he waited so long to make any moves."

"Makes sense," sighed Steinman. "Was he a drug-handler as well?"

"Nah, man, he was up there in the ranks. He dealt a lot with money and lending and stuff. He was one of the boss's favourites. Put a lot of trust in Cavallo. He used to always give me a little extra on payday. Now I know why."

Steinman thoroughly examined the photo, sitting back and frowning a bit.

"What's the matter, Johnny?"

"…Ralph…he sort of looks like me, except his nose is bigger and his features aren't as soft and beautiful as mine. We have the same moustache. Are you only attracted to me because I…remind you of him?"

"No, John! No…it's not that at all. I mean, don't get me wrong, I like my guys to be shorter than me and I do like that cute little moustache, but you're a different person entirely. I love you for you, not 'cause you remind me of a past fling. But you're right about one thing…you're much more handsome that he was."

The surgeon smiled, stroking one of his lover's forearms. "Well, okay. He, er…sounds like a really great guy."

"…Before I was locked up, he said he'd wait for me. Until I got out of prison. After the war, I went back to his apartment in Chicago…" he paused. "…And found him in bed with another guy. Another reason why I like you much better."

The doctor took one of his hands, squeezing it tight.

"He was all frantic, askin' me what I was doin' there and wonderin' why I got out so soon. I told him I'd joined the Navy; I guess he was a little slow, because I still had my dress-blues on. He had a big stiff and he kept tryin' to tell me that it was from me, but I knew better. He'd been fuckin' with that other guy. I guess I gotta admit he was younger'n me…prettier, too. I figured there was really nothin' for me back in Chicago…so I went back to New York."

"…I'm so sorry you were wronged like that, Ralph. You're such a sweet, sensitive man. Most importantly, you're loyal and honest. I can't imagine why anyone would replace you like that."

Steinman felt the warmth of a massive hand on his thigh. "Don't worry about it. I like you a lot better. You're prettier, and I bet anything you're a better cook."

John blushed, feeling better about the matter. "So, was your mother born in America?"

"No. She was born in Sicily. She came over with my grandparents. She got married in 1918, when my dad came back from France, had my brother Tony in 1919, me in 1920, and my sister in 1923."

"Your father fought in the first war?"

"Yeah, he was drafted. Spent a little more than a year in France fightin'."

Steinman nudged his lover. "Ralph…I think I know why your father was an alcoholic and violent towards members of your family."

"Because he was an asshole?"

"No! He was probably traumatised during the war. I had a friend back in New York, when I was growing up. He had an uncle who was the same way. He spent his life in and out of mental institutions. When he wasn't staying there, he lived with my friend's family. He had horrible tremours, he'd hide under the kitchen table whenever he heard any sort of loud noise, and used to scream out randomly during the night. I can only imagine what sort of horrific nightmares he must have had. He was also seduced by alcohol. While it seemed to help the terrors he had, it was destroying his body and it made him very nasty. He never liked me, even before he started drinking, because I'm German. He never wanted my friend to play with me and he always made rude comments about my family being 'Huns' and 'baby-eaters' and how we mistreated women and wanted to take over the world." John clenched his fists, trying to keep in his rising anger.

"Gee…never thought about it that way. I guess, 'cause none of us were born before the war and, you know, saw him before that, guess it never occurred to me." He leaned down, nuzzling Steinman gently. "And you're no 'baby-killer' or whatever. You don't hurt dames, either. You make 'em look pretty."

"Above all, do no harm," Steinman recited.

"You're a good guy, John. Anyone who don't realise that is either blind or stupid." He sighed, taking a hold of his lover's hand. "But, I gotta feelin' my ma was kinda pressured into gettin' married, though."

"Why?"

"I dunno. Italians are real big on marriage and startin' families and stuff like that. Her parents weren't real happy that her beau wasn't Italian, but, I guess they let it slide. She didn't have a lotta money, even though she worked a couple jobs, and I guess she thought if she got married, she'd have a bit more income."

Steinman looked up into his blue eyes. "…How would they feel about you being with a German? They wouldn't hate me, would they?"

"…I know how it makes _me_ feel." The couple kissed ever so lightly on the lips. Steinman gently cupped Ralph's groin through his trousers.

"Good, eh?"

The worker chuckled stupidly, nodding his head. "You got me all figured out."

"It doesn't take a degree in orthopaedic _and_ maxillofacial surgery to know when a man's excited. Especially when he's as big as you are."

"You talkin' 'bout this guy or the one between my legs?"

"…Yes."

Ralph, keeping his eyes locked with John's, set the album on the table, leaning back on the sofa. Steinman crawled onto his chest, pressing his lips to his as he was enveloped in the great arms.

"Don't get me too excited, Johnny. I've still got my pants on. Don't want wet, sticky drawers."

Steinman unbuttoned Ralph's pants, pushing them back.

"…There. You are denied any excuse for not making sweet love to me."

"Well, I mean, if you _insist_. I _guess_ I could," Ralph said somewhat sarcastically.

"Alright, then, tough guy." John unbuckled his belt, pulling down his slacks. He stood over his partner. "Well? Get comfortable."

"You comin' to me?"

"I'll give you a break for once."

"Fine by me," shrugged Ralph, prepared to receive Steinman as he lowered onto him. A loud knock sounded at the door.

"Oh, what now?!" he sighed angrily, pulling his slacks up quickly. Ralph buttoned his fly, staring at the door curiously. The surgeon found his landlord just outside.

"Evening, Doctor! I've come for the rent," he stated. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Steinman sighed, looking over to Ralph. "…No. No, you're not, Mr. Backus. Here, I'll get it for you. Why don't you come in?"

"No, thanks. I've got to be on my way. I'll just want to stay and chat with you. Your work astounds me, Dr. Steinman!"

"Thank you, Mr. Backus."

"Why, just the other day, I was telling a good friend of mine all about how you more or less invented the walking-stick skin graft, and he—"

"I didn't _invent_ it, Mr. Backus. I've just pioneered it in many operations."

"Well, you might as well have invented it, you're—"

"Mr. Backus, I've to get the money?"

"Oh…oh! Right, sorry."

"I'll be right out."

Steinman disappeared into his room down the hall. Ralph stared at the short, peculiar man in the doorframe.

"Hello there!" he said.

"Uh…hi?" Ralph answered.

"You're a friend of Steinman's?"

"Somethin' like that…" the stevedore said with a grin, staring back at the hall as John appeared, holding an envelope.

"Here you are, Mr. Backus. On time and down to every last cent."

"As usual, Doctor. You never give me any trouble. You're place is immaculate and you're always on time with the rent money!" answered the landlord, accepting it.

"Well, I try."

"Not like that Dr…well, I won't name names, but, he's gotten into the habit of being late—"

"Yes, Mr. Backus." The landlord leaned more and more to his right, trying to speak around the steadily closing door as Steinman began slowly pushing on it.

"You know, last time I went to collect from him, he asked me for another week—"

"I know, Mr. Backus."

"A whole week! Can you believe that? A man with his salary and he asks for more time—"

"Yes, Mr. Backus. Good-night, Mr. Backus." The surgeon sighed, running a hand through his hair. "…My biggest fan."

"I thought I was your biggest fan?" Ralph corrected.

"You mean you appreciate my work more than my love?"

"I didn't mean that at all."

Steinman chuckled, sidling back to the sofa. "Well, my libido's dead. Would you care for a glass of wine perhaps, out on the balcony?"

"Sure thing, doll."

"Are you partial to anything in particular?"

"Nah, you pick. You're the connoisseur."

"I'm in the mood for something red. It's the colour of passion, you know."

"Pick a winner, baby doll," Ralph smiled, casually taking a glass. John did so, uncorking it and pouring out a glass for each of them. Barsetti followed the doctor out onto the balcony, the latter looking over his shoulder enticingly once or twice.

"…Wow…is this one pretty city," Ralph commented with a low whistle.

"I think it's nothing short of incredible. The generosity of one man…the commitment, talent, and genius of the citizens. I'm forever grateful to Mr. Ryan."

"…What do you think he does all day? Up in Hef-Heffer-Heph—"

"Hephaestus?"

"…Right, Hephaestus."

"I'm sure he's got much to do. Meetings, ordinance, things to sign, things to organise, to run…I'm sure he has his hands quite full."

Ralph shrugged, more interested in intimacy. He leaned against the railing next to John, staring out at the city past the thick shield of glass.

"Know what I miss most about the surface?"

"What's that?"

"…Snow." He took a sip of wine.

"Really?"

"Yep. I loved the winter back home as a kid. Ma would turn the oven on to heat our tenement and my brother and sister and me would all cuddle up together. We'd have big snowball fights with the other kids, go sleddin', build snowmen…man, was it great."

Steinman remembered how he spent his winters in his childhood reading or working in his family's bakery. He didn't have too many friends as a child, and even when he received an invitation to play by the ones he had, Steinman usually declined.

"I don't know if I would want to be young again."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm. As my friend Sander told me once, 'I don't know how I could stand being a child. Thank god it didn't last for long'."

"Well…I wish I could be a kid again. I didn't have so much shit to worry about. Didn't have all these duties," Ralph lamented, staring down into his wine glass.

"You know what I _don't_ miss about the surface? Ethics…religion…regulation."

"I didn't think the surface was so bad," Barsetti muttered into his glass as he took a sip.

"This is a good bottle, don't you think, Ralph?" he asked, changing the subject as he studied the drink.

"It's pretty good. I'm not that experienced with wine, though."

"Sander Cohen gave it to me."

"Wait! You know _Sander Cohen_? That musician guy?"

"I know a lot of people…I'm Dr. Steinman."

"Wow! One of my buddies down at the docks really likes him. He's got all his records and everything."

"Oh? And what do _you_ think of him?"

"He seems jake. Gotta nice voice."

"He was on Broadway prior to his invite to Rapture."

"No kiddin'?"

"It's true. He's a real Renaissance Man when it comes to art."

"He may have a nice voice…but _you've_ got a nice face." Ralph chucked his chin gently. He leaned in, rubbing noses with the surgeon. "You and your cute little moustache!"

"Would you like to taste it?"

"Sure, dessert sounds good."

John wrapped his arms around Ralph's thick neck as the brute held his hips. Barsetti felt his partner's thin moustache brush against his upper lip.

"I never would have expected you to be such a good kisser, Ralph."

"I may be a brute, but I know how to make a guy happy."

"You certainly do." He went silent for a moment, staring at Barsetti's broad chest. "You know, I was wondering…how do you say 'love' in Italian?"

"_Amoré_," the dockhand said smoothly.

"That's a nice word, _amoré_," the surgeon repeated, trying it out.

"What's it in German?"

"_Liebe_."

"…Hey…you know what _ti amo_ means?"

Steinman shook his head. "Haven't a clue."

Barsetti placed one hand on his shoulder, leaning down towards his ear. "…I love you," he whispered. He giggled, tapping him on the nose. John's eyes softened, staring up into Ralph's blue irises longingly. "Want a top-off, pudding cup?"

"…Sure…"

"Be right back." The stevedore kissed him on the forehead before taking both their glasses inside.

"…I must be insane," sighed the doctor, collapsing on top of the iron railing. "But, if this is what insanity feels like…it's not too bad."

Barsetti pulled his jacket back onto his shoulders, placing his cap on his head. "Well, thanks for havin' me over. I had a really nice evenin' with you, even though we get gypped out of sex."

"…You know, I don't think we needed it."

"…I'll agree with that." The big worker pulled the surgeon closer, rubbing his nose against his. "But thanks, though."

"You know you're always welcome, Ralphie."

"Good to know."

They shared a tender kiss.

"Hey, um, thanks for lettin' me share that album with you, too. I hope you weren't too bored."

"I wasn't bored at all. I enjoyed it. Since I'm unable to meet your family, it was nice to see what I would have had to contend with."

"Well, thanks. Good-night, Johnny. Sleep tight."

"Oh! Ralph, I almost forgot!"

"Hm?"

"I've got a surprise for you at the Aesthetic Ideals. Come down to-morrow a little before three o'clock."

"I'll do the best I can, Johnny."

"Thanks, honeybear."

"You're welcome, pudding cup."

The surgeon bit his lip, bringing his eyes back to Barsetti's. "…Did you really mean what you said? Out on the balcony?"

"What?"

"…I love you?"

Ralph chuckled, his face turning a bit red. "…It's not too soon, is it?"

"…No, I think we're okay."

"Good, then…I love you."

John went an even brighter red. "…I love you, too."

Ralph curiously entered the Aesthetic Ideals. There were significantly more people waiting to-day; many of them didn't look like they needed work at all. He was greeted with sneers of rejection by almost all of the patients regardless. He glared back, flipping the collar of his jacket up. The dockhand strode right up to the Surgical Savings desk, past those waiting.

"Hey there, Petunia."

"Good afternoon, Ralph. Dr. Steinman send for you?"

"Yeah, he said to drop by around three-ish."

"Well, it's three-ish. Go on in."

"Thanks, love," he said, placing his cap back on his head. He smiled victoriously to himself as a crew of frustrated patients voiced their disapproval of his line-jumping, overwhelming Petunia at her desk. He lightly knocked on the door to his lover's office and entered when he heard the okay.

"Hey, honeybear!" Steinman greeted from his desk.

"What's happenin', pudding cup?" Ralph took him into a warm hug, meeting him half-way in a tender kiss. "You look cute in your work clothes."

"What, this old thing? Get outta here," the surgeon laughed, tugging on his surgical coat. "Now, I have a surprise for you."

"Oh?"

"Yes! Come with me."

He followed his lover out of the office and into the operating theatre. Stepping through the threshold put him at unease; he always hated doctor's offices, hospitals, and the like.

"Take a seat on the table," the surgeon said, tapping the shiny, covered metal as he passed around it. He went over to the sink, busying himself with a metal tray.

"You're not givin' me a surprise face-lift or anything, are ya?" said Ralph with unease, getting comfortable.

"Nope. You'll see."

"So, what's the big deal?"

"You'll see! Be patient," the surgeon laughed.

Barsetti licked his lips as he watched his lover's back. "I got half a mind to pin you right against that cabinet, there."

"Is that a threat or a promise?" challenged Steinman, looking over his shoulder. He took a moment to wash his hands at the sink.

"It's a privilege," cackled Ralph.

"Mm, I'll say it is," agreed the doctor. Ralph heard the characteristic snap of gloves. John muttered something to himself as he poured over the tray. When all was in order, he turned, taking his position by the table. Setting the tray down, Barsetti could see a large syringe…one that looked like an EVE syringe. He stood up from the table, frowning.

"Hey, hey, hey! I thought I said I don't like plasmids," he growled.

"You don't even know what I'm going to do," answered Steinman.

"What, is that gonna make my dick bigger or somethin'?"

"It's not that, Ralph. Besides, if yours was any bigger, you wouldn't be able to fit it inside me."

"Well, what's with the secrecy? Why don't you just tell me what it's gonna do?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise. You'll find out what it's going to do in the morning. Now, don't act like a brat. Sit down."

"Don't talk to me like I'm three, John."

"I wouldn't have to talk to you like a child if you didn't act like one, Ralph." The dockhand stood obstinately on his feet, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "…You don't trust me, do you?"

"Frankly, no, I don't. Not in this place. You can get a hold of all sorts of things. You won't even tell me what you're gonna do. How do you know you got the right one?"

Steinman stared up at his lover, dejection in his eyes. "…That hurts, Ralph. It hurts to know you don't trust me. You know I wouldn't make you do something that you wouldn't be comfortable with, and you know I'd never do anything to hurt you. You _know_ that." He picked up the syringe. "This isn't even a plasmid. I know you don't like them. It's a bit of ADAM. It'll help you. That's all I'll say. I'm registered to administer this, so you don't have a thing to worry about."

"Yeah? Well…what if I wake up to-morrow morning and I'm blind? Or dead?"

"Trust me, you'll be much better off to-morrow morning than you are now. Please, Ralph…it's not going to harm you in any way."

The lumbering worker stared disdainfully at the syringe in his partner's hand. He looked back to the doctor.

"I trusted you the first night we made love, when you told me you were clean. Why don't you trust me now?" Steinman reached out, grasping one of Barsetti's hands. "I won't hurt you, Ralph. I love you."

Ralph sighed. "Yeah…I love you too, Johnny." He carefully sat back down on the table, looking a bit unnerved. The surgeon smiled at him lovingly, squeezing his hand.

"Thank you, honeybear. Alright. Can I have your left hand, please?"

Barsetti offered it reluctantly. John cleaned it with a cotton patch dipped in alcohol. Ralph always hated the smell of isopropyl alcohol; it bitterly reminded him of when the foreman and the other workers tried to clean his hand when his finger was decapitated at the factory in his teens.

"Okay, I'm going to administer it now. Ready?"

"I guess…"

Steinman closed in on his hand with the needle, giving his wrist a loving squeeze.

"Wait! I don't wanna watch it," the worker admitted, turning his head.

"You don't have to. I'll tell you when it's over."

Since he had no feeling in his left hand, all Ralph could do was wait. He heard a small click as the plunger met the barrel. He felt a slight tingling in his wrist, which he hadn't quite remembered.

"All done," John said, sitting back up. He patted his lover's forearm with a smile. "You did well, Ralphie." The dockworker studied his hand as the surgeon wrapped it up with a bandage. When he was finished, he stood up, kissing Barsetti's cheek lightly.

"Hey, where's my lollipop?"

John laughed, washing his hands. "Oh, I can give you something to suck on, if you're in the mood…"

"Where you want me?"

"I'm kidding, honey. Now, I've got a few appointments this afternoon. You can take the bandage off in about an hour or so. Watch it and call me in the morning."

"Why? Is it gonna do a trick?"

"It might. Take care. I love you."

"Yeah…you got it. Thanks. Love you too." Ralph hugged and kissed his lover good-bye, watching his hand as he left the office.

Later that night, Ralph lay in his bed, gaping at his hand. The hole from the needle had disappeared, but, it didn't look, or feel, any different. He listened to the soft ambience of Apollo Square outside his window. A few workers were sharing a very loud, rather drunken, conversation a few doors down. He shut his eyes, hugging his pillow, wishing that it was his slender, handsome lover.

"Johnny, I love you, but…you're nuts."

Barsetti was awoken unpleasantly by his loud alarm clock at five. He slammed his left hand down on the thing, nearly smashing it. It had taken quite a beating from him in his tenant. He could still feel the imprint of the switch on his hand as he let it slide away.

…Feel.

Ralph immediately sat up. He hadn't felt anything in his left hand since he was sixteen. When his eyes were finally fixed, he still couldn't believe it.

His ring finger had grown back.

Stunned, the worker touched it, squeezed it, felt pain, felt his sheets, the wooden floorboards, everything. He shot out the door to the phone in the hallway. He dialed John. He didn't pick up at his apartment or his office. Now it was waiting all day until the evening when he was let off to celebrate…and to thank him.

He met up with his pal Snub at the loading docks a little before six. Snub was confused and a little startled by his large friend's uncharacteristic merriment.

"Snub! Snub, look! Get a load of this!"

"Where's the fire, Ralphie?"

"Look…look…" he chanted. He held out his hand, indicating the corresponding finger. Snub cautiously reached out, taking a hold of Ralph's hand. He touched the finger, remembering very clearly that it wasn't there when last they met. Snub grimaced, taking a step back. He crossed himself hurriedly.

"You in league with the Devil or somethin'? Last time I saw you, you didn't have that finger!"

Barsetti laughed heartily. "No, man! John helped me!"

"John?"

"C'mon! Dr. Steinman?"

"I didn't know his first name was John…"

"Well…he did it! He gave me a shot of…whatever, yesterday at his office, I woke up this mornin', and look! Ain't that nuts?! Man…I haven't felt anything in this hand since I was sixteen."

"A shot of whatever…wasn't some stuff called ADAM, was it?" Snub chanced.

"Yeah! I think that was it."

The other worker frowned again. "Uh, Ralph? You gotta watch that stuff. I heard it's wicked easy to get addicted to. Folks gotta take it to keep their plasmids workin' and stuff like that. They also use it for fixin' deformities, diseases, and I think I even heard that Steinman and other surgeons use it when workin' on people. If you start takin' it regularly, you'll have to keep on takin' it."

"Well, maybe, but this was just one shot. I don't think I got anything else what needs fixin'," the big worker smiled, admiring his hand.

"Doctors love it, man. Steinman might keep pushin' it on ya or he might try and tell you ya hafta keep takin' doses—"

"Snub…" Ralph interrupted. "…I trust John. He wouldn't hurt me or back me into a corner like that. He just wants what's best for me, like any good partner. I trust him."

Before Snub could reply, their foreman, Johansson, strode up. He was more than prepared to chew them out, when he looked up to Ralph. He still hadn't forgotten when Dr. Steinman had reprimanded him on his visit a few weeks prior. Johansson shut his mouth, averting his eyes from the big dockhand.

"Uh…get to work, Ralph, Snub. It's six o'clock."

"You bet!" the brute complied with a smile, stripping himself of his jacket and sweater.

John opened the door, hearing Ralph's characteristically heavy-handed knock. The dockhand stood in the hallway, a massive grin on his face. He raised his left hand, displaying his grown finger. The surgeon smiled triumphantly as he locked fingers with him. Standing on his toes, he placed a kiss on his lips.

"You're welcome, honeybear."

"But-but how did-what did-it-how?" Ralph stuttered.

"The miracle of ADAM."

"But, but I haven't been able to feel anything in this hand since I was sixteen. And now I have my finger back! How'd you do it?"

"I told you to trust me."

Ralph fished around in his trousers, taking out his wallet. "Alright, then. How much do I owe you for it?"

"Nothing."

The worker looked stunned. "No way, man! I'm payin' you fair and square. How much?"

"I don't want anything."

"Name your price."

John laughed. "Ralphie, I want the best for you. Now, as Dr. Steinman's lover, you'll get pretty much whatever you want, definitely whatever you need. I don't want to be paid for it. The only payment I want is your happiness and satisfaction."

"Well…you certainly got it," smiled Barsetti, putting his wallet away. "Oh, that reminds me," Ralph said, pulling it back out. He fished out a photograph with a smile. "My buddy has a camera and took this of me. It's probably the only photo of me I've ever liked."

John grinned. "This _is _a good photo of you. You look so…"

"Ugly?"

"No…natural. You're looking at the camera, but, it's almost got a candid nature about it. It's just…capturing you as you are." He paused for a moment. "…I think you look really handsome, Ralph."

The worker shrugged. "Keep it."

"Oh, no! I don't want to keep your picture. You like it so much."

"Psh, what am I gonna do with it? Stare at it all day? I think it would do you a lot better than it would me."

Steinman bit his lip. "Well…I guess you're right. This will certainly do me some good." He reached up, nuzzling him gently. "I know you don't like to flatter yourself, but, you're handsome, Ralphie. You've got a rugged masculinity about you. You're everything a good man should be."

"Thanks, pudding shot. Handsome don't even begin to cover you."

The surgeon's face went red.

"I love it when you blush like that, Johnny," the worker smiled, pinching one of his cheeks.

Steinman sighed, towards his lover. "…You know, I've had a lot of patients in my career and I'm always looking for ways to make people more beautiful. But, ever since getting to know you…I've felt differently. You're perhaps the only person I've met that I don't wish to change. I don't want to try to make you look more beautiful…because I can't make you look more beautiful."

"Aw, geeeeee!" Ralph said bashfully, hiding his face.

"It's true."

"Aw, man…you really mean that, John?"

"I'd never lie to you, Ralph. You know that."

The couple gazed deeply into each other's eyes. Steinman inched closer, taking a gentle hold of Barsetti's lapels, never breaking his stare. The dockhand reached up, stroking one of John's soft cheeks lightly. After a moment, John slipped his hand behind his partner's maroon jacket, immediately groaning in displeasure, pulling it back out. He rolled his eyes in disgust.

"And this jacket—"

"I know, I know! I just wanted to get down here as soon as possible. I won't bring it back after to-day, promise."

"Good. Now…if we could just do something about your stubble," he furthered, stroking the worker's face.

"Aw, you don't like my stubble?"

"Well…to be honest, not particularly. I prefer my men clean-shaven. I always thought it made one look dirty or just…" he shook his head. "I just don't like it."

"But I've always had a bit of peach fuzz. It's my look. You sure you don't like it?"

"Peach fuzz? Hardly! It's so rough on my face when we kiss. You have very coarse facial hair."

"I like the way your moustache feels. Yours is soft," smiled Ralph.

"Oh, I've had this thing for…since I was in med school. I like it. I was a bit behind for mid-terms and I sort of neglected to shave."

"I'm glad you did."

"I got a four-point on my exam, though. You know…when I came home from college my first semester, for Thanksgiving, my mother almost didn't recognise me. She'd never seen me with any facial hair before." He paused for a moment, sighing nostalgically. "…She told me that when I walked in with my suitcase and a moustache, it was the only time I looked like an adult to her. She said I always looked like her little boy, even when I graduated high school and went off to college. My father didn't like it, though. He said it made me look like a dandy. He said he'd rather I had a full beard if I was going to have anything. I didn't care, though. I liked it then and I still like it now."

"So do I," Barsetti complimented, leaning in and kissing him.

"Oh, I take that back. There _is_ something you could do for me…"

The dockhand immediately reached for his wallet again. Steinman grabbed his wrist with a grin. "…It's behind the pocket, not in it."

Ralph chuckled heartily. "Oh, I get it. You want some lovin' instead, don't ya?"

"I most certainly do."

The big man nodded towards the bedroom. "Alright, then. Go in there and strip. I'll be right after soon as I take my boots off and stuff."

"If I wait, will you help me?"

"Man, you're full of good ideas. No wonder Ryan invited you down here."

"I'm a man of many talents…" Steinman said enticingly. He sidled around the sofa and down the hall so sensually, Ralph couldn't contain it. He felt the blood pulsing to his groin as he watched the surgeon wink at him over his shoulder.

"Man…you're in for the ride of your life," he chuckled to himself, tearing at his bootlaces.


	8. Phase 8

Phase 8-June, 1958

Dr. Steinman waited for the bathysphere to dock. He rubbed his temples wearily, groaning.

"Dr. Steinman, sir?"

Petunia came to his side, belting her trench coat against the chilliness of the Metro.

"Oh…hello, Petunia. You haven't left yet?"

"No, sir." She studied his forlorn features closely. "…It's alright, sir. Mrs. Smith didn't have any idea what she was talking about. She was just looking for a reason to start some trouble. You know how she always does that, in and out of the Medical Pavilion."

"I suppose…" he answered distantly. "…Don't you think I did a good job with her nose?"

"You did a great job, sir. She looked wonderful. Don't let what she said get to you. You're a fantastic surgeon. You do terrific work."

"…Thanks, Petunia. But don't humour me…" Steinman stepped into the bathysphere as it opened for him.

"Oh, but I—" the door closed before she should finish her sentence. "…I'm not."

Steinman sighed despairingly, turning the key to his apartment. He entered, letting his medical bag drop by the door. Looking up, he started lightly. Ralph was sitting on the sofa waiting for him. He smiled brightly, folding the newspaper he was reading.

"Hey, pudding cup!"

"Ralph? When did you get here?"

The worker shrugged. "Been waitin' for, oh…thirty minutes or so." He hurried around the sofa, meeting his lover. Barsetti studied his face a bit closer. "Hey, somethin' the matter, Johnny? You look like someone just ordered a hit on ya."

"It's just…" John sighed once more, digging his fingers through his brown hair. "…I had some trouble at the Ideals to-day."

"Rough day?"

The surgeon nodded solemnly, staring off into the distance.

"I hate those. Those are the pits," the worker said. His lover's eyes looked a bit glassy. Ralph reached up, lightly running his fingers through John's hair. "It's okay, pudding cup."

Steinman buried his face into Barsetti's chest.

"Hey…" he said lightly. He took a gentle hold of John's cheeks, bringing his eyes back up to his. "Why don't you go get changed and then we can cuddle up and you can tell me all about it, if you want." The surgeon nodded stiffly. Sharing a tender kiss with the brute, he sauntered to his room down the hall.

"…Poor guy," Barsetti said.

Ralph waited impatiently for his lover to return. Luckily, he wasn't waiting long. John returned, having shed only his suit-coat and replaced his shoes with slippers. His tie was loosened, his shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows. He collapsed on the sofa, allowing his head to fall into Ralph's lap. John sighed deeply as he felt the worker's fingers running through his hair.

"Ralph? Can I ask you a question, and will you give me an honest answer?"

"You know the answer to those questions already, pudding shot."

Steinman hesitated a moment before continuing, toying with one of Ralph's suspenders. "…Do you think my skill as a surgeon is failing me?"

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Well…do you think I'm not making people as beautiful as I'm able to?"

Barsetti had to take a second to ponder on this. "Are you askin' me if I think you're startin' to suck as a plastic surgeon?"

"In a nutshell."

"What? What are you talkin' about, Johnny? You're an excellent surgeon. I seen the people you've worked on. No, you're fine."

"You're not lying to me?"

"I'd never lie to you, Johnny. Why d'ya ask?"

Steinman averted his eyes. "…That's why I had such a bad day. One of my patients returned and threw a fit. She went on and on about how I butchered her and nonsense like that. My nurses all thought her nose looked wonderful when I was finished…moreover, _I_ thought it looked good. I-I don't understand."

"Please. You're gonna let some condescending housewife push ya around? You're Dr. Steinman, the best surgeon in Rapture, if not the entire world! Why d'ya think Ryan invited ya down here? You must be hot shit if he did. You're here for a reason." John looked contemplative. "Hey, it's better than your Foreman tellin' ya you're worthless all day. They really go for the heart, too. Whatever your weakness is, they'll find it. Like me bein' a homo."

"…They taunt you?"

"Absolutely! If you only knew how often I have to listen to 'Barsetti! Move yer ass, ya faggot! You're movin' like ya still got one shoved up there!'"

"Geez," Steinman said.

"Eh, I'm numb to it now. But I kinda wish I _did_ have one shoved up there," he chuckled, leaning over John. The surgeon blushed. "Hey…I know what'll cheer ya up…"

"What's that?"

"How 'bout pinnin' big, bad Ralphie-boy up against your mattress, eh?"

"Oh, you…"

"C'mon. I need to be taught a lesson."

"Are you in the mood?"

"Of course! I'm always in the mood to be had by you. I may be a brute, but I like a good fuckin' now and then. Especially from you. I'd like to be your slave."

Steinman giggled like a schoolboy. "Don't say things you don't mean."

"Oh…I mean it. Whaddaya say, tough guy? Take all your frustration out on my ass?"

"…I wouldn't want sex with you to be rough and meaningless, Ralph," the doctor said. He reached up, stroking one of the worker's cheeks.

Ralph shrugged. "Sometimes we just need the physical. Not everything has to be mental. Like right now, sorta. I'm happy with you just touchin' my face. Some nights I just like to lay with you on top of me, just for the company and the closeness, ya know?"

"…That's sweet, honeybear."

"Now, when we're lyin' together, I do like our cocks to touch, but…we don't always gotta go further."

"I do so like that. I love your warmth…and your firmness," agreed Steinman. He took a firm hold of the button-fly on Ralph's pants.

"Oh? You want that warmth and firmness now?"

"…Getting warmer."

Barsetti unbuttoned his trousers, spreading his legs and sinking further into the sofa. "It's yours anytime you want it, cookie."

The surgeon sat up, cuddling back down into Ralph's broad chest. His hand slipped underneath the waistband as the worker pushed back his pants, allowing for an easier entrance.

Ralph groaned like he had just finished a large meal, panting lightly.

"Wow…shit…that was a good one."

"It certainly was," John concluded, examining his wet, sticky fingers. "…I take it back. This day wasn't so bad."

"Amen to that," Barsetti laughed, staring down at his wet chest. He slapped one hand down on John's thigh, rubbing him.

"Got a towel I could use?"

"There's a green one hanging on the side of the bathtub. Just pitch it in the clothes hamper when you're finished. And…hurry back," the surgeon teased, pinching one of his cheeks.

"Oh, I will, don't you worry."

Steinman studied his hand, rubbing the sticky mess between his fingers. He watched the thin strings clinging to his fingertips, the heavier white patches slipping down his palm. Smiling snidely, he gripped himself through his slacks using his moist hand. It left a few patches of spunk, darkening the beige material.

"Being a man is…interesting. Pleasing a man is…many things. Easy, exciting, forbidden…the best feeling in the world."

Barsetti lumbered into the bathroom, switching on the light. "Damn, is he good at chokin' it. Hope this makes up for his shitty day." Ralph cleaned off his chest, balling it up in his huge hands when he was finished. Before making his way back into the den, he stopped in front of the mirror. Turning to the side once more, he studied his reflection carefully. Something looked…different, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Then it dawned on him. His stomach looked…bigger, maybe? Confused, he pulled his shirt back over it. He looked fine.

"Hm…must be the lighting in here," he shrugged, switching it off and returning to his waiting lover.

"All cleaned off?"

"Yep. Ready for round two," chuckled the dockhand. He paused a moment. "Hey, um, Johnny? Now can I ask _you_ somethin' and will ya give me an honest answer?"

"Ask me anything, Ralphie."

"Well…okay. This might sound silly, but…do you think I'm, ya know, gettin' a little bigger 'round the middle?"

"…You mean are you putting on weight?"

"Yeah. I uh, kinda noticed in the bathroom a little while ago. I think I'm gettin' bigger. My pants are startin' to feel a little tight, too."

"I think you look fine. I haven't noticed anything."

"You sure?"

Steinman shook his head. "I don't think you look any heavier."

"Well…okay. As long as you say so," he answered, patting his stomach.

"…You said 'round two'. Are you buying again, or am I?"

"What are you in the mood for?"

"I think it's your turn."

"I'm down. Here, I bet it can get it to hit your chin…"


	9. Phase 9

Phase 9-July, 1958

"So? What's the big surprise, Ralphie?" Dr. Steinman asked of his lover. The big dockhand finished rinsing his dish off, rounding on the sofa with a bright smile.

"Okay, come get cozy and you'll find out."

The doctor curiously settled down next to him, stroking one of his muscular forearms. "I'm excited!"

"Alright, then. I have something special for you. It's on my person…you'll have to find it," grinned Ralph.

"Oh, so you're going to make me look for it?"

"And that's a problem?"

"I'm not complaining…" the surgeon said airily, beginning his search. First, he looked in all of the pockets on Ralph's trousers.

"Not even close," chuckled the worker. Steinman looked contemplative, studying his partner's exterior. He took the collar of his sweater, pulling on it lightly. Ralph leaned forward, allowing him to remove it. After a fruitless search, he eyed his partner's groin. With a devious smile, he fondled him and the area around it. Ralph laughed.

"Unfortunately, it's not there. But you can leave your hand if you want to."

"Oh, don't worry, I'll be back." His hand moved upward, over his belly, and to his chest.

"Gettin' close," smiled Ralph.

John shrugged. "I don't know where else to look."

"Then do you give up?"

"…No!"

"Alright then," sighed Barsetti, getting comfortable. John ran his hands down both of the worker's legs, finding nothing in particular. He couldn't help but look inside his pants, however, all he managed was Ralph's monstrous cock. Steinman was just about ready to throw in the towel.

"…Alright, I'm stumped. Where is it?"

"You wanna hint?"

"Please?"

Ralph smiled, pulling his undershirt over his head. He scanned over the burly dockhand's body several times and came up short.

"…Okay. I give up. What's the big surprise?"

"Really? You can't see it?"

"See what?"

Barsetti smiled kindly, inching closer. He tapped his left pectoral, right over his heart. On it was inked a freshly healed tattoo…with John's first name in looping cursive lettering. The surgeon gasped lightly, gaping at it.

"No…you didn't. You didn't!"

"I did."

"Ralph…you got my name permanently tattooed on your body?"

"I sure did. I figured, you know, we been seein' each other for a while." He flushed gently. "…I just wanna show ya how much I love ya."

"Oh…you big brute," Steinman said, tears sliding down his cheeks.

"Johnny-boy," Ralph cooed, wrapping his arms around him. "Don't cry."

"I can't help it," he said, wiping his eyes on a handkerchief. "No one's ever done something like this for me. I'm greatly honoured, Ralph."

"I would've gotten your full name, but then I'd look suspicious. I had to tell the artist that it was my brother who I lost in the war."

John hit him gently on the shoulder. "You big Goliath, you…when did you get it?"

"'Bout a week ago. I wanted to wait until it was healed before I showed it to ya."

"I guess it's a little obvious, now that I see it. You had to have that part shaved. Well, I'm very honoured. I never would have dreamed that someone would have my name tattooed on their body."

"I'm glad you like it. I was kinda afraid for a moment that you wouldn't like it, you know, because you're not a big fan of tattoos."

"I'm very flattered, actually."

"Good." Ralph nodded towards the hall. "Hey…you wanna go sit out on the balcony?"

"I'd love to. Let me get a blanket, though. Sometimes it gets chilly out there at night, when the pipes aren't working as hard."

"I'll go save us a seat."

John and Ralph sat outside on the balcony. A blanket draped over their laps, Barsetti's arm draped over John. The doctor rested his head on one of his lover's broad shoulders while he gently toyed with one of his meaty paws. He caressed the ring finger of his left hand, the one that had grown back. It was also the finger that's knuckle had the heart card suit tattooed on it.

"…You have big hands, Ralph."

"You know what they say about men with big hands…"

"Whoever says it isn't true has obviously never met you."

"Some guys are just lucky, I guess. Havin' fun, pudding shot?"

"I honestly can_not_ think of anything else I'd rather be doing."

"No kiddin'?"

"No kidding."

"Eh, there's gotta be somethin'."

"Nope. Nothing. Ooh, aren't you cold, Ralphie?"

"Nah, I'm fine."

"I'm cold just looking at you!"

"Feelin' your groin, I'd say you were hot lookin' at me."

"Get out of there…" Steinman said cheekily, pushing his hand away.

"You like bein' with big, bad Ralphie-boy?"

John nuzzled into his chest, giving him a squeeze. "I sure do."

"Well, that's good. 'Cuz I like bein' with you," the big man said, nuzzling his lover. "There's just one problem…"

John looked worried, sitting up a bit straighter.

"…I've gained a helluva lot of weight since we started seein' each other."

"No you haven't! Don't say silly things like that."

"I have so! I'm up about twenty-five pounds! Lookit all this," he explained, pinching a layer of fat on his stomach. "This wasn't here before."

"Well, at least I know I'm doing something right, with regards to my cooking," chuckled Steinman, rubbing Ralph's belly gently. Ralph gripped his lover's head in one of his large hands, pressing it further into his belly.

"You gonna fatten me up to cook me?"

"You've got me all figured out. I had no idea you were watching your girlish figure so closely."

"If you can find a dame who looks like me, I'll give you one, no…_five_ million greenbacks."

"That's one bet I won't dare take."

The couple smiled, simultaneously leaning in for a kiss. When they had finished, their attention was drawn to the wet world beyond.

"So, you horny yet, Johnny?" Ralph ventured.

The surgeon shrugged, taking one of his lover's hands again. "I'm content right here. Why, are you?"

"I'm always horny," the stevedore laughed heartily. "But if you just wanna cuddle, I'm down."

"Must be hard lifting cargo all day with stiff trousers."

"Ever since they put up that advert with your pretty face on it, it is. On my lunch and dinner breaks, I get comfy on the docks and just stare at it. Thinkin' about how long it's gonna be until I get to see the real McCoy."

Steinman pinched one of his cheeks playfully. Sighing, he settled down in Ralph's lap, stroking one of his thighs as he stared up at him.

"Ralph?"

"Yes, cookie?"

"Do I make a good lover? I'm not too prude, am I?"

"What?" laughed Barsetti heartily. "No way, man! You're a damn good lover. You're very good about kissin' and touchin'. It's good that you can control yourself and don't do it in public, where you might give yourself away and stuff."

"I try…" John said, slipping a few fingers underneath the waistband of Ralph's trousers. "But I've been told I'm a prude."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Richard told me when we were dating."

"Well…you do like to play 'hard to get' and you're a big tease."

"Oh, _am I_?"

"_Big_ time. You're always bendin' over in front of me or flashin' me that perfect smile of yours…or reachin' into my pants!" laughed the worker. Steinman sat up, working as much sensuality in his movements as he could. He sat in Ralph's lap, straddling him softly. He wrapped his arms around the big worker's neck, cuddling up against him. Barsetti felt his and the surgeon's erections nudging behind their trousers.

"Do you feel that?" John whispered in his ear.

"You bet I do, lover-boy," replied Ralph, giving him a light squeeze, cupping his right buttock.

"How about we go inside, eh? And get a little more familiar?"

"Excellent suggestion, Johnny-boy." The pair gathered up the blanket, hurrying back inside and into John's room.

John smirked down at him, running a hand through his messy hair.

"…You not a swallower, Johnny?"

"No. I'm not. It isn't exactly safe. That…and I can't stand the consistency."

"…Fair enough. Wow! Was that somethin'…"

"Glad I could be of service. Now, I'm afraid it's almost eleven-thirty, and I have to send you off on a moment or two."

"Okay. I'll scram. But I need a moment to…sheesh," he panted, grinning stupidly. Steinman departed, but returned with the same green towel Ralph had used before. He gently wiped away the patches on Barsetti's large chest. He couldn't help put pick some up on an index finger, letting his lover suck it clean.

"…What time can I see you to-morrow?"

"Well, I'm going over to Sander Cohen's apartment to visit with him and Mr. Ryan. I'm making dinner here, so you'll have to come over a bit earlier if you want it."

"I'm supposed to work later to-morrow. I'll see if I can convince my asshole foreman to let me off early," Ralph said, buttoning his pants.

"…Here, I'll see you out."

Ralph pulled his sweater from the coat rack, pulling it over his head.

"Thanks, baby doll. I really, really loved that." He sighed. "I'm still in that afterglow."

"You look it. This was the first time I've taken you orally. I hope I made a good first impression."

"You sure as hell did. I'll uh, try not to ask for it every time I come over."

John shrugged. "You're welcome to ask…just as much as I'm welcome to decline."

Ralph shrugged as well. "No means no. Lady or gentleman."

The surgeon leaned upward, kissing him lightly on the lips. "I'm so lucky to have such a gentleman."

"Likewise. See ya to-morrow, pudding cup."

"Good-night, honeybear. Pleasant dreams."

Ralph's gaze found its way back to the hallway for the umpteenth time. He could see John's shadow stretching across to the opposite wall, his arms moving consistently as he fussed with his hair. A smile slowly worked its way to the worker's lips as he watched. He decided to pay John a little visit. Ralph stood, nudging his suspenders off of his shoulders. He rounded on the bathroom, leaning up against the doorframe.

John smiled, looking in the mirror. "Hey, sweetie."

"Hey, gorgeous."

"Oh, stop," the surgeon rolled his eyes, replacing his comb.

"Whatcha up to?"

"Just trying to make myself look presentable."

"Oh, please! You look presentable all the time," Ralph complimented, taking a step forward.

"Oh, no! I was very disheveled from work and cooking."

"Hm…then maybe you should stay in to-night?" insisted the worker, placing his hands on his lover's waist. He dug them into his back pockets, rubbing roughly.

"I would, but, I'm not one to turn down an invitation from Andrew Ryan. Also, if I stayed here, then I'd just want to make love to you and once I start, I won't want to stop. And I have to get up early in the morning."

"Yeah, I suppose I do too…but you can give me just a few moments now, can't ya? To last me until to-morrow?"

"Ralph, please! Not now, I just did my hair."

"Yeah…I love it when you beg like that," chuckled the worker deeply, pulling his partner into his chest.

Steinman couldn't fight it. He sighed contentedly, nuzzling into Barsetti's broad, muscular chest. He stroked one of his pectorals fondly.

"You sure you don't want to come with me?" he enquired.

"…Nah. I'm not posh enough for your friends. I'm barely enough for you. I think I'll sit this one out."

"Well, just so you're aware, I do plan on having you three meet at some point. They've heard so much about you, it's only fair."

"Uh, that's probably not such a good idea, pudding shot."

"Nonsense! You're going to get acquainted and you're going to enjoy each other's company whether you like it or not." He groaned, squeezing his big lover. He then began chuckling.

"What's so funny, Johnny?"

"You know…I used to be able to wrap my arms around your waist."

"You feed me too well."

"Well, you eat so much! Your stomach's a veritable bottomless pit!"

"Nah, it has an end, it just takes a while to get there. Your cooking is just so amazing."

"I think there might be a piece of cake left under the dish, if you're so inclined."

"…Why'd you have to go and tell me that?" smiled Ralph.

"It's yours whenever you want it." Steinman stood on his toes, kissing his lover on the lips. "I should get going now. Thanks for stopping by."

"Thanks for dinner, pudding cup."

"You're always welcome, honeybear. You know that. Are you going to stay here for a little while or are you leaving as well?"

"I think I'll hang out as long as I can. See if I can't make room for that cake. I'll probably be gone when you get home."

Steinman nodded. "I'll see you in the AM, then. Don't forget to lock up when you leave."

"I won't. I'll stop by on my lunch hour to-morrow."

"Good. Just take a seat in my office if I'm busy."

"You got it, cookie."

They shared another kiss, moving out of the bathroom.

"Good-night, Johnny. Have fun at your little get-together."

"Thanks. 'Night, Ralph," the surgeon said, winking as he exited his apartment.

Steinman knocked on the elaborate door lightly. He looked up, watching the light from the halls glinting off of a plaque that read "S. Cohen". Moments later, a tall, unkempt man with wild hair answered the door.

"Evening, Mr. Cobb," John said.

"Y'all can call me Silas, y'know, Doc," he replied. "I ain't no hot-shot." He stepped aside, allowing him entrance.

"Thanks, Silas. Is Ryan here yet?"

"Yep. They're both at the bar, if'n y'all wanna drank."

"Is that you, my dear Doctor?" they both heard a flamboyant voice call out. Silas followed Steinman through an archway. Sure enough, Cohen and Ryan were seated at the wet bar, a pair of Long Island iced teas between them. "It certainly is! Ah, my dear Steinman, you're tardy! How out of character," the artist exclaimed.

"I know, I know, I apologise," John smiled lightly.

"Well, don't you look dapper to-night? And your face is just as handsomely dressed. You bring us good news, don't you?"

"Well…" Steinman began, averting his eyes shyly.

"You're hiding something, aren't you? Well, we'll find out what it is in due time. Come sit, we've saved a seat for you!" Cohen insisted. John chose a seat to the right of Cohen. "Silas, be a dear and fix the good doctor up with a drink, won't you?"

"No prob, Mr. Cohen." Cobb fixed him a drink like a seasoned bartender.

"Good evening, Mr. Ryan," Steinman said obediently.

"Likewise, Doctor. Sander does make a point…you look different to-night. You look…content."

"…I am," John said, his face flushing gently.

"Aha! I know exactly what it is! Dr. J.S. Steinman is…in love!"

The surgeon's face went a deeper red.

"And I'm correct! Like always!" Cohen laughed, clapping his hands. "Alright! So, who's the lucky lady? Oh, that's right. You're like me…a dirty, rotten queer! Right, Silas?"

Cobb leaned casually against the bar. "Right as rain, Mr. Cohen."

"Well then, tell us who the lucky young man is! No, no, let me guess…it wouldn't happen to be Kempinsky, the violinist you met last time you were here? Ooh, he wanted you in the worst way!"

"No, it isn't him," answered Steinman, sipping his drink.

"Is he another doctor?"

"Nope."

"Nurse?"

"No."

"PhD?"

"Far from it."

"He's not in the arts, is he?"

"Definitely not."

Sander sighed with a shrug. "I'm spent. Who is it?"

Steinman smiled, setting his glass back on the bartop. "Well! I'll tell you, but, you must promise not to say anything about my choice."

"Please, John. You're in the company of friends, not wolves. Go on!"

"Well, alright then…" he took in a breath, anxious but giddy. "…He's a worker from Port Neptune!"

Cohen's mouth hung open and Ryan favoured him with a look of subtle disgust.

"You the pitcher or the catcher, Doc?" Silas enquired. Cohen hit him lightly on the arm.

"You're joking, obviously," the artist furthered.

"Actually, I'm really quite serious. He's a stevedore at the docks. You should see the muscle-structure on him—"

"John…"

"Firm, toned—"

"John—"

"He told me he's lifted—"

"John Steinman!" Cohen exclaimed.

"Mm-hm?" he replied calmly.

"Of all the worthy, talented young men in this city, you chose a ruffian fishmonger as your lover?"

"He isn't a fishmonger, Sander. He's a stevedore. He loads and takes inventory of bathyspheres and fishing vessels. He only occasionally cleans fish."

"Right, right, I remember our discussion about this that night a few months ago. He came to you, correct?" Ryan enquired somewhat disdainfully, breaking his silence.

"Of course! Naturally, I wouldn't have ventured to a place like Port Neptune's docks."

"How come I was left out of the circle?" Cohen asked, fancying Ryan with a sideways look.

"Well, when he initially asked me on a date, I was anything but honest. I basically set him up."

"You dog! You're terrible, Dr. John Steinman!"

"Would you both excuse me for a moment? I have to use the washroom," Ryan said, exiting.

"You wouldn't happen to have a photograph of him, would you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." Steinman pulled the one Ralph had given him from his wallet.

"…Ooh…oh, my," Sander said to himself, studying the handsome Italian closely. "My, he is quite a catch. No pun intended. What's his race?"

"His father was Irish and his mother was Italian. He takes after her side of the family."

"What do you think, Silas?" he enquired, leaning over and handing the photo to his disciple. Cobb studied it for a few moments.

"Well shit! I'd let him inside my shorts, easy."

"Let me guess…tall, dark, olive-skinned, well-forested?"

"Spot on! He also has a few tattoos. He was in the Navy during the war."

"In that case, he must be covered."

"He is."

"Oh? And how do we know that, eh?"

Steinman stifled a few giggles, sipping his drink.

"John Sebastian! Are you this suave sailor's little pincushion?"

"…Something like that."

"How about him? Does he ever let _you_ in through the back door?" Cohen enquired, finishing his Long Island.

"Oh, of course! We take turns. We're both the man and the woman."

"…So how long is his? And what's the width?"

"Oh, my goodness," Steinman laughed, covering his eyes bashfully.

"C'mon, tell us!"

"Well…and this is only an estimate…I'd say just about nine inches, when he's aroused, and five or six around."

"Right!"

"You asked! I'm just relaying."

"Nine inches…huh!" Cobb huffed.

"Well, I suppose you would know, John."

"I _would_ know," chuckled Steinman, raising his glass to his lips.

"You two must make a lot of hay, then, I'm to assume?"

"Perhaps you ought to start calling _me_ the 'Wild Bunny'."

"Why didn't you bring him with? You're supposed to get mother and father's approval before you date anyone," furthered Cohen, gesturing to himself and then to the archway, where Ryan has passed through.

"Well, I don't know. You invited me, not necessarily him. I didn't want to be rude. He's also not much of a party-goer. He feels like he shouldn't associate with wealthy or talented people."

"He's your lover, you're decently wealthy and talented," challenged the artist lightly.

"…He also thinks I'm cute."

"Well, I don't think it would have been rude. I want to see if it's actually as impressive as you say."

"Second it," Cobb agreed.

Steinman favoured him with a look.

"And here I thought you were so innocent."

"It just goes to show," smiled the surgeon, looking down into his glass. "Oh and, Silas? I'm usually the pitcher."

Cobb laughed out loud. "Nice!"

"What's his name?"

"Ralph Barsetti."

Sander sighed, shaking his head. "I just can't picture you with a dockhand. I thought for certain you would have responded favourably to young Kempinsky's advances. Hm, you know who I always thought you would look nice with? Provided I hadn't already beat you to the punch."

"Whom?"

"…Kyle Fitzpatrick, my disciple."

Cobb laughed out loud, shutting his mouth but still retaining a cheeky smile when Cohen gave him a look.

"You disagree, Silas?"

"I mean, it's just funny, on account a' how innocent Fitz is."

"You wouldn't have wanted a tall, young pianist, dear Doctor? He's very good with his hands…and er, everything's in proportion, if you understand where I'm coming from."

"Oh, I understand."

"He's told me he thinks you're handsome. You're his favourite of my friends."

"Who doesn't? Well, he is cute, but truth be told, I don't think I'd want to deal with loving an artist or musician. I've got a feeling people would find out about it easier than most. And if they knew I was homosexual…"

"And you find yourself safer with a commoner from Apollo Square?"

"At least people won't expect. Look at yours and Ryan's reactions."

"You can only hope so, John Sebastian…you can only hope so."

"Are you two lovely ladies through gossiping?" Ryan said dryly, smoothing out his suit as he took his seat.

"No! But you certainly missed quite a bit about John's love life," replied Cohen.

"I have a feeling I'm not drunk enough for the ensuing conversations," Ryan stated flatly, tipping back the rest of his drink.

"No, no, we're done, Andrew. For the moment," the artist assured.

"Well, in that case, why don't we move to the den, Sander? I want you to play that record you made recently."

"Fantastic suggestion, Mr. Ryan! I love talking about myself almost as much as Steinman does."

"Hey!"

"I said 'almost'!"

John Steinman returned home around midnight. Before slipping his key into the lock, he pressed his ear to the door. He heard faint noise from inside. Going rigid for a moment, he twisted the knob…

It was still open.

Feeling both fear and anger, he hurried inside. To his relief, it was only the television. Ralph was still there, asleep on the sofa and snoring loudly. On the coffee table sat a chocolate-smeared plate and the cookie jar, presumably empty. The surgeon didn't quite know whether to hug him around the neck or wring it. As quietly as he could, he crept to the TV, switching it off. Ralph sat up in an instant.

"W-What? What happened? Who's there?" he asked sleepily, his eyelids drooping.

"Shh, it's me, Ralph."

"Oh…John? You home?"

"Mm-hm."

"Oh…good. How was your party?"

"It was nice, but it wasn't really a party."

"Oh…" Ralph nodded. He yawned loudly, stretching his muscled arms. "…Guess I should get goin'."

"You can't leave at this hour; it's after midnight!" laughed Steinman.

"I don't care."

"Yes, but I do. Here, you can come and get cozy with me. We wake up at the same time and we're closer to the docks than Apollo Square."

"Eh, I gotta belly-ache. I think I'll stay out here," he said, lowering back down to the cushions.

"I'm not surprised. You ate _all_ of the cookies?" John asked, staring down into the jar.

"And the piece of cake," grinned Ralph defiantly, rubbing his stomach. "I killed the ice cream, too."

"I would hope you have a belly-ache! No wonder you always ask me if you're putting on weight."

The worker stuck his tongue out defiantly.

The surgeon sighed, rolling his eyes playfully. "Here, let me go change. I'll be right back."

Steinman returned in his pyjamas and robe, settling down on the sofa with his lover. Ralph lifted his legs, extending them over his partner's lap. The doctor rubbed his shins.

"You don't feel sick, do you?"

"Eh, I did earlier. It was real bad around ten-thirty-ish. Now it just hurts."

"Maybe we'll learn a little lesson from this, hm?"

Ralph looked thoughtful. "Nah. I'd probably do it again."

"You're so stubborn."

"Well, you're a good cook! You're also the one who left a full cookie jar out in the open. What'd you expect?"

"How old are you? Do I have to follow you around like a mother to make sure you don't spoil your appetite?"

"It's impossible to spoil my appetite here," Ralph retorted. He closed his eyes with a sigh, feeling John's hand move up to his cheek, stroking his face.

"I showed you off to Cohen and one of his friends."

"What'd they think?"

"They all agreed that you're handsome."

"That's hard to believe. They didn't disown you?"

"Sander and his friend are both homosexual! Of course not."

"What about Ryan?"

"…He tolerates us."

Ralph smiled, holding up one of his hands limply. John took a hold of it, locking fingers. He stared down into the cold, blue eyes, reading utter contentment and affection in them. Barsetti yawned, nestling into one of his great shoulders.

"I'm sleepy…" he murmured, shutting his eyes.

"Sorry I woke you."

"S'no problem…"

In moments, Ralph was asleep. Steinman sighed, stroking one of his lover's big hands. He felt his eyelids sliding lower and lower as well. A long day at work followed by an evening hunched over the stove and drinking with friends had done a number on him. It was an excellent day, one of the more excellent days he'd had. Soon enough, he felt his head lull into the sofa cushions, closing his eyes. One of his hands still gripped Ralph's.


	10. Phase 10

Phase 10-July, 1958

Dr. Steinman woke up at his usual time, having a near-flawless internal clock. His eyelids slid open slowly. He found that he had somehow relocated to Ralph's chest during the course of his sleep cycle. He panicked for a moment, wondering what time it was. John was reassured when the wall clock in the den read six twenty-eight. Sighing in relief, he settled back down on his lover's chest.

"This morning was surprisingly comfy," he sighed. "I guess when you have a muscle-bound brute to lie on." Steinman sat up, taking caution not to wake his slumbering partner. "I wish I could stay, but, I guess I should get dressed and ready for work." Reluctantly, he rose to his feet, stretching as he made for his room.

A little after seven, Dr. Steinman emerged from his room, smoothing out his tie and shirt. Ralph was still sound asleep on the sofa, snoring. Cheekily, the surgeon crept up quietly. He leaned in, kissing him on the cheek. Barsetti woke slowly, groaning as he rubbed sleep from his eyes.

"Good morning, sleepyhead. Time to wake up," Steinman said playfully.

"…Time s'it?" Ralph mumbled.

"Quarter after seven. How're you feeling, honey?"

"…What's for breakfast?"

"I'll take that as a 'better'. I made you some blueberry pancakes. How's that sound?"

"Cool," smiled the dockhand.

"Good. Get up, get up."

Barsetti heaved himself up from the sofa, rubbing his eyes some more. He stood, stretching his powerful arms and yawning loudly. Smacking his lips, he scratched his stomach.

"I can tell you're not a morning person," chuckled John.

"I can tell you are."

"I don't mind getting up early." He placed a tall stack of pancakes on the table as Ralph lowered himself into a chair. "Would you like anything on those?"

"I'll take some butter and some powdered sugar, if you got it."

"I do. Do you use syrup?"

"Sometimes."

"I'll get it out in case you want it."

Once Ralph was situated and eating, Steinman got comfortable across the table, slipping his glasses on and folding open a newspaper.

"J'oo eat already?"

"Mm-hm. I had some oatmeal and some fruit. Oh! Would you like a glass of orange juice or coffee?"

"Eh, I'm not much of a coffee drinker. OJ sounds good, though. Thanks."

Steinman poured him a tall glass.

"That's all you ate? Oatmeal and fruit?"

"Yep."

"S'that enough?"

"It'll tide me over until my lunch hour. Thanks," smiled the surgeon. He'd read through a short column, when his eyes skimmed over the top of the paper and at Ralph. He was chuckling, his cheeks turning a light pink.

"What?" grinned John.

"Nothin', nothin'."

"C'mon…what're you so happy about?"

"…You're just so god damn cute! Makin' me breakfast and all."

"Well, I love you. I also had a hunch you'd be hungry when you woke up, even after your feeding frenzy last evening."

Ralph smirked, shoveling a forkful into his mouth. "Anything good in the scandal sheet?"

"Not much…and don't talk with your mouth full. Hm, Anna Culpepper's latest song got good reviews, it seems. Sander's not going to be happy about that."

"He don't like her?"

"No, no! They've been quarrelling for years. They used to collaborate, though. Strange how things happen."

"Yeah, strange…"

"How are the pancakes, dear?"

"Excellent, like always."

"I'm glad."

"Say, uh, you gotta toothbrush I might borrow?"

"I still have yours from when you last spent the night. It's still in the bathroom. The green one."

"Thanks."

After breakfast, Ralph brushed his teeth and washed up. He pulled his sweater over his head, placing his cap on last. "Well, thanks for everything, Johnny. Thanks for lettin' me spend the night, eat all your desserts, and for makin' me breakfast."

"You're welcome, pumpkin," the surgeon said, handing him a paper bag.

"…What's this?"

"Lunch."

"…No way…you made me lunch?"

"I most certainly did." He reached up, kissing him on the cheek.

"Wow, thanks! I can't wait to eat it." Catching his partner by the waist, he leaned down and kissed his lips passionately. "Thanks for everything, pudding cup."

"You're welcome, honeybear. Have a great day."

"You too."

"Ralph speakin'."

"Hey, pumpkin!"

"Johnnnyyy…what's new?"

"Oh, not much. Just finished up dinner. Thought I'd give you a call before I turn in for the evening."

"That's swell," Ralph said, making himself comfortable in the chair by the phone.

"So, what are you up to?" John asked.

"Not much. Sittin' here, eatin' a banana…thinkin' about you," chuckled the worker.

"You _are_ really good at that," the doctor said fondly, twirling the phone's cord about his index finger.

"Yeah? Think so?"

"Know so."

"Heh, I'm really good at that? You're not so bad yourself. That was a nice surprise, the other night…when you were takin' me."

"I hope it was good enough. It's been a while since I've taken another man."

"Oh, don't you worry. You're never not good enough, Johnny. But tell me, what do _you _like better? Pushin' it down my throat or into my ass?" asked Ralph. He lowered his voice to his deep, resonating mutter.

"Oh, honestly!"

"C'monnn, answer me," teased the stevedore.

"Well…I really do like your fellatio. I think I may like that more."

"Am I good at catchin'?"

"Very good. I'm thinking about it now. And it's making me—"

"Excited?"

"A bit more than that," giggled John, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

"You hard?"

"…Now I am. Are you?"

"I'm strokin' it as we speak."

"Don't you share your quarters with other workers?" laughed John.

"Yeah, but, I don't give a fuck. I'll fight anyone that has a problem with it. They're just jealous because mine's bigger than all theirs."

"I bet you'd do a number on them," commented Steinman, unzipping his slacks. "And I definitely believe that. I can prove it."

" Nobody messes with Ralphie-boy." He paused, tossing his banana peel over his shoulder. It landed in the waste bin. "…I've got cold spots in my shorts. I'm still thinkin' about you."

"You've been on my mind the whole day. One of my patients asked me if I was single. I almost told her about you, about us."

"Don't mention dames, man. You're killin' my libido."

John laughed.

"Wish I was there…I'd suck you dry. I want you sooo bad."

"I think you'd be impressed with what I've got right now," added Steinman. He pushed back his slacks, taking a hold of himseld. He heard his lover groan on the other end.

"Don't torture me, Johnny. Man, do I wish I was with you. I wanna lick you all up."

John squirmed happily on the sofa, bringing one of his knees up.

"Hey, Ralphie," Snub said, patting Barsetti's shoulder roughly. "Talkin' to your boyfriend?"

"Sure am."

"I can tell," the other worker laughed, pointing to his groin as he backed towards his door.

"Jealous," snickered Ralph, turning his attention back to the phone.

"Did you get caught?" John enquired.

"It's a tenant full of guys. Even that won't stop 'em from jackin' off. They're used to it, even if I wasn't with you."

"Sounds…intriguing."

"It was. But I've got my little pudding cup. I don't need 'em. Are you strokin' yours?"

"Mm-hm," answered the doctor, staring downwards.

"Damn, do I wish I was there. I'd eat you up. I'd choke on it as you creamed right down my throat."

"Gosh," Steinman giggled, feeling himself give a little at the very thought.

"That gave you wet shorts, didn't it?"

"…I'm getting close."

"Oh? Playin' hard to get, eh? I'll fix you. I'll fix you good." Ralph heard John giggling wildly on the other line. "I've got half a mind to march right on over there, bust your door down, and rip those clothes right off. Then I'll run my tongue over every inch of your body. I'll save your lips for last…I always save the best for last."

"I want that big, strong chest of yours."

"How about my ass, eh? Don'tcha want that?"

"Well, of course!"

"Good. Man, do I want you to fuck the shit out of me. I want that hard meat-pole of yours inside me right up to the hilt. Then I want you to throttle me until you squeeze another load all up in my guts."

Steinman closed his eyes. He muscled himself harder.

"You come yet, Johnny?"

"…Getting warmer." The surgeon unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it away from his chest.

"Hey, Barsetti! Some of us wanna use the phone too!" another worker called out from the doorway of his room. Ralph growled to himself.

"Sorry, cookie. Guess I gotta go."

"…Can you hang on for just—another moment?" grunted Steinman.

"Why?"

Barsetti heard a contented moan on the other end. "…Okay. Now you can hang up."

Ralph cackled. "Did you just hit it?"

"Let's just say it's a good thing I unbuttoned my shirt…"

"Is it all up your chest?"

"Covered."

"You naughty boy," Ralph chuckled.

"While we're young?!" shouted the other worker.

"Fine! I gotta go, babe."

"Thanks for hanging on, honeybear."

"Thanks for jerkin' it with me, pudding cup."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

"…I love you, John."

"I love you too, Ralph."

The big worker hung up the phone, buttoning his trousers and rising from the small chair.

"All's I know is she better be pretty hot," the disgruntled worker sneered, picking up the receiver.

"Oh, don't worry…she is," retorted Ralph, entering his room.

Steinman sighed therapeutically, letting one forearm come to rest dramatically over his eyes.

"And to think…I almost refused him," he said, his hand falling to himself once more. He lazily reached for a box of tissues on the end table, wiping off his chest. He was tired, and his extra ministrations had emphasised it. Sighing again, he pulled himself from the sofa, wandering down the hall to his room.

"…You're comfy, Ralph."

"Oh, now I know why you feed me so well. So I can be your pillow, eh?"

"Stop putting ideas into my head," laughed John. He lay stretched out on the sofa, resting his head on top of his lover's belly. Ralph stroked his hair gently.

"Comfy, pudding cup?"

"I wish I could just stay here forever…" sighed Steinman.

"If we're talkin' forever, I think I'd rather be cuddled up in bed with you, stripped down to the skin."

"…Touché."

The worker's opposite hand lowered down onto John's stomach. He rubbed him gently, listening to him giggle boyishly.

"How do you stay so slender, Johnny?"

"Eating right plays a big part in staying healthy. Something I wish you would do," he explained, patting his lover's stomach.

"You callin' me fat? …'Cuz you're right. But at least I'm happy."

"I just look out for you, love." John closed his eyes, exhaling deeply through his nose. He felt Ralph's hand inching further down his body. Soon, his fingers were digging underneath his button-up shirt and the waistband of his slacks. He looked up, grinning cheekily.

"Going hunting?"

"Sure am. Gonna get me a nice, big buck, too," replied his lover. John could feel his hand wrap around him through his shorts. Before he could begin any ministrations, the phone rang. Both of the men sighed irately, John pulling himself across the sofa to the phone on the side-table. Ralph pulled his hand from his pants.

"Dr. Steinman speaking…oh, good evening, Petunia! What can I do for you? …What's that? Oh, Lorenzo called you? Oh…what did he want?"

Ralph remembered this "Lorenzo" character. He also distinctly remembered physically throwing him out of the Aesthetic Ideals when he had stormed in and gave John a hard time for taking the day off. Barsetti wasn't sorry; he'd do it again in an instant. The big worker gave the conversation only a portion of his attention, his eyes focused on Steinman's unbuckled belt. Smiling at John, he placed his hand back to his groin, rubbing him. The surgeon shot him a wry face, gently pulling his large hand off. Ralph chuckled, patting one of his thighs. He tried again, this time, going underneath the waistband. His fingers had just reached him through his undergarments, when Steinman clamped his hand over the receiver, pulling his hand out once more.

"Ralph, please! I'm on the phone!" he chided through giggles. "…Sorry, Petunia, you'll have to repeat that." He turned on his stomach, reaching for a pad of paper and a pen.

"…This is just as useful to me," chuckled Ralph, stroking the curve of his buttocks.

"Ralph, I mean it. Behave yourself," he warned over his shoulder. Not wanting to be that much of a bother, the worker stuck to stroking the curve of his rump.

"Alright, ten o'clock to-morrow then, Petunia. Thanks for calling, good-bye." The doctor groaned, burying his face into a pillow.

"Somethin' the matter, cookie?"

"…I'm sure you remember Lorenzo."

"Yeah. He still comin' back?"

"I'm just as surprised as you are. Don't get me wrong, If he didn't pay so well, I wouldn't even waste my time on him. He's constantly trying to find things wrong with my work when I'm finished with him. Ugh, and he's so ugly, too. He's just…unattractive. It's all of my skill to make him look like something you can at least show in the daylight."

Ralph leaned down on his knees, listening closely.

"And I haaate consultations or having to deal with his attitude! He hasn't really shaped up, not even after your…episode."

"Told ya you should've set him up a consultation with _me_. _I'll_ give him some work," the dockhand said, clenching a fist.

"No! Not again," he stated harshly. "It's a part of the business. I just have to grin and bear it." The surgeon sat up, repositioning himself. He sat in Barsetti's lap, nuzzling him. "But thanks for the offer, honeybear."

"Just tryin' to make sure you're happy. I don't like to see you upset or angry." He nuzzled back, giving his surgeon a squeeze. "Oh, and…you're a great surgeon. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise…because they're wrong. You wouldn't be down here if you weren't a prize."

John leaned in, placing a tender kiss on his lips. "You're sweet, Ralph. Thank you."

"You're very welcome."

John sighed, rubbing one of Ralph's massive pectorals. "Would you like to come cuddle with me?"

"It _is_ more comfy in the bed. I'd love it."

The two rose, holding hands as they traveled down the hall to John's room. Ralph collapsed on his side of the bed, making himself comfortable as Steinman began changing.

"So, you gonna get naked for me, Johnny?" groaned the worker.

"You like me naked?" he teased.

"I always prefer you without clothes. You know that."

"Ask and you shall receive," giggled Steinman, pulling off his tie. The surgeon stripped himself slowly and sensually for his lover, hanging his garments on the footboard when he had removed them. Ralph removed his pants as well, a huge grin plastered on his face as he watched intently. When finished, Steinman crawled into bed, snuggling up against his big lover. Barsetti removed the rest of his clothes, pulling John closer. His hand slid under the sheets, down the side of his torso.

"Don't you ever think about anything besides that?"

"Sure I do…but I fight it!" laughed Ralph, kissing his neck. The surgeon squirmed in delight as he felt the worker's meaty hands reaching from one part of his body to another. His ministrations quickly morphed in a series of tickles. John laughed out loud.

"Stop it, Ralph! You know I'm ticklish!"

"Exactly!"

"No, stop! Stop, you're getting me all wound-up! And I have to work to-morrow!"

"_I_ don't!"

Steinman, too weak from his merriment, was unsuccessful in his mission to fend his lover off. Barsetti finally ceased, hovering victoriously over John. They both panted, trying to catch their breath.

"…I hate you," sighed Steinman, sprawled on his pillow.

"I know," Ralph smiled.

Cuddling with his big lover, the surgeon waited patiently until he was asleep. When he was positive he heard the big Italian snoring, he inched himself from out underneath one of his muscular arms. He crept to the bathroom, doing his best to keep quiet. He opened the medicine cabinet…removing a syringe. It was filled with iridescent red liquid. Hugging it to his chest, he stole a peek outside, shutting the bathroom door when he deemed the coast clear. He studied his face closely in the mirror.

"…Ralph didn't have a clue I was forty-three when we first met…let's keep it that way. I've been doing once a week for a few months…I think it's time we went for…"

Steinman stood up tall, pinching up a bit of skin as he raised the syringe to the base of his neck.

"…Twice a week."


	11. Phase 11

Phase 11-July, 1958

The following morning, Ralph lumbered out of bed just before Steinman left for the Medical Pavilion. This came as a great surprise to the surgeon when he appeared.

"Hey there, pumpkin! What are you doing up so early?" he laughed.

Ralph shrugged. "Think I know? Just got up."

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"Nah, you're good." He stretched out his body with a yawn. "We still on for drinks to-night?"

"Yep. I'll be home around six." Steinman watched his lover as he stretched. He noticed the way Barsetti was staring at him as he finished the last sip of his coffee. He began to panic, thinking perhaps the ADAM he'd taken the night before hadn't worked. "…Something wrong, Ralph?"

"No way…man, you look sexy this morning, Johnny. I mean! You look sexy every morning, but…I dunno. There's just somethin' about you that looks—"

"Younger? More handsome?"

"I-I dunno. I guess so." He stroked his cheek gently. "…Well, whatever it is, keep it up. It's workin' for ya."

Steinman grinned brightly to himself while Barsetti busied himself with the contents of the icebox.

"…What a marvelous substance. It's made a lifelong customer out of me."

"You home, Johnny?!" Ralph bellowed, entering the apartment.

"In the bathroom, dear!"

"Gotcha!"

Steinman emerged a minute or so later, smoothing out his suit vest. They kissed each other lightly in greeting.

"Whatcha got for dinner, pudding cup?" Ralph furthered.

"How does pasta primavera sound?"

"That's just a fancy term for spaghetti. I'm down!"

"I hope you're not offended that I make all these Italian dishes for you," the surgeon laughed, checking the stovetop.

"You kiddin'? I love it! You sure you're not secretly an Italian? You cook just as well as any Dago, maybe even better!"

"Oh, stop," Steinman said, waving him off.

"It's the truth, cookie. Oh!" Barsetti hurried back to the door, picking up a bag.

"And what've we got here?" the surgeon asked.

"Okay…I did some thinkin' and I know how much you hate my jacket—"

"You mean that smelly, tattered, maroon dishrag?"

"Okay! I get it. Anyway, because you hate it so much…I uh, went out on my lunch break and got me a new one." From the bag, he pulled out a new leather jacket.

"…Well, what are you waiting for? Model for me!"

Ralph pulled it onto his shoulders. "What do ya think? Is it me?"

"Be still my heart!"

"I'll take that as a 'yes', then?"

"I like it! It makes you look tough…"

"Yeah? Guess I do kinda look like a greaser. Then again, I guess I am at heart."

"A greaser? What's that?"

Ralph realised that the term "greaser" wasn't coined until after the forties had passed, and Steinman hadn't lived on the surface since 1946.

"Oh, uh…it's a surface thing. It's what they call sorta outcast kids or kids from the wrong side of the tracks. They look kinda like I do right now, leather jackets, jeans, greased-back hair. That's where it comes from."

"Ah. You came in 1952, correct?"

"Yep."

"Well, if it's anything like you say it is aesthetically…I think it's attractive," John said, sidling up to Ralph's side.

"Oh really?"

"I used to never give people like that a passing glance, but, after meeting you…I think you've turned me into one of those who's attracted to troublemakers."

"That's me alright…" Barsetti unbuttoned Steinman's pants, slipping his hands inside. "I'm a troublemaker for sure."

"Out," the surgeon ordered with a grin, pulling the big hands from his waistband. "Time for dinner, muscles."

"We still goin' out later?"

"Oh, of course! You think I'd forgotten?"

"Just makin' sure. I been anxious for it all day."

"Me too. But, no drinks until you've finished your supper."

"Huh, you ain't gotta order me," Ralph said, taking up a plate.

Later that evening, John and Ralph entered the bar together. It was largely vacant, the only other patrons being a man resting prone on the bar top and two others engaged in a heated discussion in a booth near the back.

"Joint's empty to-night," Ralph said, adjusting his worker's cap.

"Is it usually full?" enquired John.

"Yeah, usually. At least more than this. And it's even Friday night."

"Well, I suppose we should be somewhat thankful for this, though. Less voyeurism."

"Guess you're right. You want somethin' to drink?"

"I'll buy."

"No, you're not. I've got to-night. Go on, pick your poison."

"Fine. If you're buying the drinks, I'll pay for the billiards."

"If you insist. What'll it be?"

"Bourbon on the rocks," Steinman said.

"Need a chaser?"

"No…I do not."

"Ooh, adventurous. I'll be right back. Rack 'em up."

The pair departed to their designated duties. Ralph returned with the drinks in a timely fashion. He set them on a table as John chalked his stick.

"You look handsome in your new jacket, Ralphie."

"Thanks, baby doll."

"But I must know…did you throw the other one away?"

Ralph smiled, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly.

"No! You don't still have it?"

"C'mon, Johnny! I've had that jacket for years! We've been through some tough times together. It's comfy and fits me good."

"But it's so dirty and worn out!" John lamented.

"Hey, hey, hey! I'm not gonna sit here and let you bad-mouth my jacket."

"Well…if you insist on keeping it, you can't wear it around me."

"…Fine! I'll only wear it to work and when you're not around."

"Thank you, Ralph." Steinman shuddered as he thought about his lover's disgusting outerwear.

"You said you used to play, eh?" the worker asked, pulling a cigarette from his packet.

"I did, back in school. I haven't in a while, though. I'm not sure how good I'll still be," he replied, examining the tip to make sure it was satisfactory.

"It don't matter. We're not playin' for money or anything. You don't mind if I smoke, do ya?"

Steinman shrugged. "We're in a bar, are we not?"

"Thanks," chuckled his lover. John corralled the billiards, trying to set them as close together as he could. Ralph waited until his partner was deep in concentration, then he rose from his chair. With nobody paying attention to them, he moved around John. Gently, he took a hold of his hips, straddling him loosely. The surgeon started at the touch, but smiled, looking up at the big man.

"Didn't break your concentration, did I?"

"Luckily, I already have them set," John answered, removing the rack. "Who's first?"

"Ladies first," Ralph said gallantly, choosing his stick.

"I suppose that means me, right?"

"Well, _I_ was the one receivin' last night." Ralph kissed him lightly on the forehead. "You break, doll."

Steinman bent over the table, setting the stick between two fingers. Just as he was about to strike, he felt a hand caressing the seat of his slacks.

"Okay! Even I have to draw the line somewhere. Keep the touching to a dull roar in public, alright?" instructed the doctor.

"What did you expect? You're presentin'. You're just lucky you got pants on."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Alright, alright, hands off. I got it."

"…That's more like it," chided John, repositioning himself. The billiards cracked and rolled in different directions as the cue struck them. A striped ball entered the far pocket, declaring his colours. "Looks like you're solids, honeybear."

"Good shot," nodded his lover, lifting an ashtray from another table. John sank another ball, but missed the third. Barsetti rechalked his stick, his cigarette hanging on his lip. He bent over the table, putting full concentration on an orange ball a good few inches from a centre pocket. Ralph took a long time, sizing up the shot. He finally unleashed his strength, the cue ball slamming into the solid, knocking it into the hole. He sank the next four balls the same way, two in one turn.

"Wow. You're good," John smiled, sipping his bourbon.

"Eh, I'll get worse as the night progresses," he answered, taking a swig from his beer bottle. He watched Steinman position himself for the next shot. Again, the doctor sank two and missed the third.

"What would your friends say if they knew you were out shootin' pool with workin'-class riff-raff?" asked Barsetti, the tip of his cigarette glowing.

"I suppose I could ask you a similar question," retorted Steinman cheekily, finishing his drink.

"Eh, I don't have a lotta friends. My good buddy knows I gotta thing for you, though."

"Does he?"

"Yep." Ralph became somber for a moment, recalling Fontaine's orders.

"Only two…perhaps three…of my closer friends know that I'm homosexual. I keep it from my patients and co-workers. I would hate to lose business over something so trivial as that."

"Yeah, uh…that'd be no good."

"You know, come to think of it…I'm surprised. I know things are much different down here than on the surface, but I was hoping people like us would be treated at least a little fairly. I suppose society's beliefs are still rooted," John commented, alighting on the edge of the pool table. Ralph pondered on this as he prepared for his next shot. The solid blue ball met it's maker in the far pocket.

"I get trouble for it every day, just like the surface," he said, perching his cigarette in a groove on the ashtray. He took a deep swig from his bottle.

"I can't even image what people would say if they knew about me. About us," sighed Steinman.

The worker nodded stiffly. Softening, he placed a hand on one of John's shoulders. "Hey, c'mon…we're on a date. Let's not talk about this no more, eh?"

"…I'm for it. You always know how to brighten my spirits."

"Thanks, cookie," he smiled with a wink, leaning down and sinking another ball.

Barsetti won the first game by a few billiards. By then, the two men in the corner had departed, leaving them all but alone with the barkeep who busied himself between cleaning glasses and listening to a football game on a small screen.

Steinman was doing significantly worse the second round. Ralph studied him closely as he tried to position himself accurately to sink the next ball. Smudging out his cigarette, he hefted his bulk up.

"Here…can I show ya somethin'?"

"Sure, go right ahead," John said, sitting up a bit.

"Here…" Ralph gently straddled his lover again, this time, not entirely out of lust.

"Wait. What are you doing?"

"I ain't gettin' fresh or anything, I just…think I know why you been missin' some," uttered Ralph. He took both of the surgeon's hands in his, John allowing them to be repositioned. "I been watchin' you all this game and I think I know what your problem is." He leaned over the smaller man, placing the stick to the table. Steinman could smell the beer and cigarette smoke on him mixing with his cologne. He could also smell the leather from his new jacket.

"Hold it like this. Yeah, this is good. Don't be in such a hurry to hit it. The other guy can wait."

John wasn't sure which was more overpowering: the fear in the potential for others to see them or the arousal he felt from Barsetti's groin against his rear.

"Don't think about where it is; think about where ya want it to go. It's kinda like throwin' a punch. Ya gotta let your fist go past the guy's mug after you've hit him, Likewise, ya gotta think about where the ball's gonna go once you've hit it."

The surgeon was entranced with both his lover's touch and the deep, subtle tone of his voice as he lectured. He ended up grinning stupidly to himself. Between the warmth and protection he felt with the dockhand's arms over his, and the slight stiffness he could feel nudging his rear, there wasn't any other place he wanted to be, any other feeling he'd rather be experiencing. It trumped the fear he had begun to feel just as he'd been enveloped in his arms.

"Once you're ready…" he moved the stick. The ball sailed into the pocket, as intended. "See? What'd I tell ya?" smiled Ralph, standing to his full height. John clutched the tip of his stick close.

"…I wish you hadn't let go."

"I thought you were complainin' about me bein' touchy-feely?"

"True, I don't like it in public, but…I suppose we have an alibi, if you're helping me improve my game."

"Ah, I gotcha…" The pair smiled at each other fondly. "Then you want another lesson?"

"Please?"

"You got it, pudding shot."

It was late when they finally left the bar. Steinman and Barsetti walked back to the former's apartment after a few games of pool, a few arrow matches, and long chats in a booth…a few more drinks finding their ways to their glasses.

"Good games, Johnny."

"Yes, indeed. I had no idea you were so good! At both pool and darts!"

"When it's pretty much all I got to do for fun, I'd better be," laughed the worker. He winked down at his lover, who blushed lightly in return. They walked on for a few minutes before making more contact. Ralph's hand gently found John's, taking it in a firm but loving hold. John looked up to him, smiling brightly. Their fingers locked and their grip tightened.

"Thanks for all those lessons, big guy," Steinman said softly.

"Thanks for lettin' me sorta, grind on ya there a little bit," replied his lover.

"You can come and grind on me anytime your heart desires, Ralphie," the doctor replied with a wink.

"Anytime?"

"Well, it might be a problem if I'm working."

"I second that. I get enough shit at the docks." He halted his pace, staring down into a dimly lit alley. John continued forth, tugging gently on his lover's hand when he noticed he'd stopped.

"Ralph? Something wrong?"

"…How 'bout now, then?"

"Hm?"

"How 'bout I grind on ya a bit now?"

Ralph could tell the few slugs of bourbon and the two bottles of Ryan's Club he'd had were getting to him. He was a bit tipsy. "Oh yeah? You want the best plastic surgeon in Rapture?"

"_Baby_! I wantcha _now_. I wantcha _right now_."

"Well! I can be just as much a troublemaker as you, ya know…" Steinman enticed. He unbuttoned his suit-coat and vest slowly. "What're we gonna do if someone sees us? Hm?"

"No one will see us. And if they do, I'll make damn sure they don't do nothin' about it."

Steinman allowed himself to be lead down the alley. Under canopies of drying laundry, Ralph pushed him up against the side of a building. He leaned in, pressing his lips to John's. He held both of his cheeks in his hands, kissing him aggressively. John gripped his back tightly. Ralph kissed down his partner's neck, tugging his collared shirt down a few inches to continue. The doctor groaned softly. Barsetti gently began grinding up against one of Steinman's thighs. The doctor groaned louder, gripping the wall behind him.

"I want you so bad right now, John," the worker whispered in his ear, standing. "I wanna suck that nice meat-pole of yours right down, and have you give me a come facial!"

"I-It's yours for the taking, Ralph," panted John, wiping perspiration from his forehead.

A light came on from an upstairs window. Both men went rigid, looking up to the source. They heard muffled voices and a saw a shadow on the pane. They hurried from underneath it, rounding a corner. John buried his face in Ralph's chest, holding his breath. The worker held him tight, chancing a look. He saw a woman tugging the laundry line, collecting the garments one by one.

"That was close," John sighed, placing a hand over his heart, feeling its quickened pace.

"Eh, nobody saw us. We're cool," the worker assured, running a sleeve across his forehead.

John grabbed the back of Ralph's neck, looking up at his big lover. "Who said you were done?"

"I didn't say I was done."

"Neither did I."

"I'm just as eager to get back in the saddle. Wanna continue at your place?"

"Then let's not post any more hast, eh?"

"Agreed." He took the surgeon's hand back in his and together they hurried down the street to the bathysphere port.

Steinman frantically pulled out his key, hurrying to get the door unlocked. He felt Ralph's monstrous hands kneading the flesh of his arse as he twisted the key in the lock. Jerking it open, they nearly fell through the threshold. John slammed it shut, throwing his body against the door. Ralph turned him around, upon him in the next instant. He tore at his bootlaces, pulling them off his feet. John threw off his jacket, tugging at his tie. Barsetti grabbed his neck, his tongue pushing against the surgeon's.

"Yes…yes!" Steinman panted. Ralph tore furiously at the surgeon's belt. John, likewise, unbuttoned Barsetti's suspenders from his trousers.

"C'mon, right here, right here!" chided the Italian, lowering to his knees. Savagely, he pulled Steinman's pants down.

"Johnny! …That was incredible! We've never had a night like this!"

"I pride myself in being a savage in the bedroom."

"…I'm the luckiest guy in Rapture. In the world."

"I think _I'm_ the luckiest man in the world."

"…We're both lucky. I guess it's the only thing I can thank my old man for. The luck o' the Irish."

"Yeah…"

They were quiet for a long time. Steinman turned his gaze to the window, a deep sigh escaping through his nose. He could see the lights from the city through the curtains, which were cracked ever so lightly.

"What a wonderful night this has been Ralph. …Ralph? Ralphie?" John sat up. The big Italian was fast asleep at his side. John rolled his eyes, chuckling. "Already? Well, I suppose the drinks aren't helping." He yawned, snuggling down against him. He began rubbing the warm, uncovered skin of his chest.

"…Good-night, you stupid wop, you," sighed the surgeon, closing his eyes and nuzzling Ralph's chest, not caring that he was still in some of his clothes from the day and that he had to wake up in a few hours for work.


	12. Phase 12

Phase 12-July, 1958

"There's my star pupil!" Fontaine greeted. Ralph Barsetti cautiously stepped through the door, shutting it behind him. "What's up, Ralphie?"

"Uh…not much."

"Take a seat."

The stevedore did as told, lowering himself gently into the chair in front of the desk. He grimaced, touching one of his temples.

"Uh oh, 'Twenty-Four-Hour-Flu'?" chuckled Fontaine.

"Just a headache right now."

"You party with Steinman last night?"

"Sure did."

"Didn't happen to party with Ryan, did ya?"

"No, it uh…was just me and Steinman."

"Heard you were late to-day. How come?"

"I uh, was at Steinman's. I spent the night. We uh, were kinda…busy…last night."

"Obviously." Fontaine tapped a pen on the desk slowly. "…So that means you ain't got nothin' for me."

"Uh, no. Sorry, boss."

The con-man shrugged casually. "…I'll let it go this time. But I want somethin' from ya the next time you see him, got it?"

"Yeah, uh…no prob, boss."

"Good. Get outta here."

Ralph shrugged, rising from the chair.

"Oh and uh, Barsetti? You tell Johansson that if you need the bathroom code to-day…you need it."

Dr. Steinman looked up as he heard the door to his office open. Ralph stepped in, closing it behind him.

"Hello, Ralphie!"

"Hey, gorgeous."

The surgeon put down his chopsticks, wiping his mouth off and rising from his desk. They embraced in a warm hug, Ralph grunting as he lifted his shorter lover off of the floor. He regretted it, though. Groaning, he touched his head.

"Oh, what's the matter, Ralph?" Steinman asked, taking a hold of his arm.

"Um…leftover from last night," he smiled weakly.

"Oh, right. We were both in bad shape this morning. Here, I'll be right back. Take a seat in my chair."

Ralph got comfy as the surgeon left his office quickly. He didn't stay for long, though. Barsetti relocated to the chair in front of the desk, moving it a good few feet away. The smell of whatever his lover was having for lunch was making him nauseous. John returned, whistling softly to himself.

"Here you are, dear. Drink this up."

"What is it?"

"Just drink it."

Ralph was wary for a moment, but realised that the last time John wanted him to take something without explaining, his missing finger grew back. Reluctantly, he popped the cap off of the small bottle and sipped the vicious, dull green liquid. He grimaced, shaking his head.

"This is terrible!"

"Well, it's your choice. Five seconds of foul liquid or a day-long hangover."

The dockhand frowned, downing the liquid as quickly as he could. He shuddered, smacking his lips when it was finished.

"Ugh! What was that?"

"Bend over. Like that," Steinman said, pushing on his back until his head was between his knees. He felt the surgeon rubbing his back gently. He felt a heavy sensation inside of him that started in the middle of his chest and fell through the abdomen. It last only a few moments, and was gone. He sat up, a bit confused. His headache had vanished and he didn't feel sick anymore. Ralph stared up at his lover in disbelief.

"…Alright. What'd you do this time?"

Steinman held the bottle up cheekily. "Hangover tonic! As you can probably guess, this is very popular."

"Damn! You are a fuckin' _magician_!"

"But I didn't invent—" John fell into a bout of laughter as the big worker seised him, dressing his neck with kisses. He stopped at his lips, giving him a long, rough smooch.

"Mm, you taste extra good to-day. Whatcha got for lunch?"

"Chow mein with shrimp and peanut sauce."

"You make it?"

"Of course."

Ralph kissed him again, this time with feeling. "You'll have to save me some next time. It was makin' me feel sick earlier, but from what I got, tastes pretty good."

"Are you on a lunch break too?"

"Yep. So I thought what better way to spend it than to pop on over and see my favourite little pudding cup!" he said sweetly, rubbing his nose against John's. The surgeon giggled maniacally.

"Don't say things you don't mean."

"You callin' me a liar?" laughed Barsetti.

"I'm not calling you for _dinner_," retorted John.

"You better call me for dinner. I love your cookin'. But you're spoilin' me, though. Everything else I eat tastes like shit."

"Oh, that reminds me," the surgeon said, adjusting the lapels of his lover's jacket. "I'm having Sander Cohen and Mr. Ryan over to-night for dinner. You should come! I know how badly you've been wanting to meet Ryan and I've been wanting to introduce you all."

Barsetti went rigid. He immediately thought about Fontaine's orders…why he was here with Steinman in the first place. "Yeah…how 'bout that."

"I talk about you enough, they want to know what the fuss is."

"Oh you do, do you?"

"Certainly! They're probably dying to meet you!"

"Eh, I don't think 'dyin's' the right word."

"What time do you get off work to-night?"

"Eight-ish."

"Good. You'll come over after then."

"Uh…do I have to dress nice or anything? I don't exactly own a suit."

"No, no! It's just an informal gathering. Nothing fancy. You'll come, won't you?"

"Only if the others don't mind watchin'."

Steinman rolled his eyes playfully, punching his arm. "But seriously…?"

"Sure, cookie. I'll meet the parents."

"Excellent! I'll see you a little after eight, then."

"It's a date."

"Good. Now, my lunch hour is almost up. I have to clean this place up for a consultation."

"Alright, I'll get out of your hair," Barsetti said, placing his cap back on his head.

"Thanks for stopping by, honeybear."

"My pleasure, pudding cup." They kissed and Ralph departed.

"Hey, uh, John? When are the big shots, comin'?" Barsetti enquired over his shoulder.

"They should be here any minute now, I'd say," Steinman replied, checking his wristwatch against the clock.

"Do I gotta dress nice or use fancy words or take their coats or somethin'?"

"Well, I'd like for you to put a shirt on. Just an undershirt is fine when you're with me, but, I think you should wear one when company's over. And yes, I think it would be very nice if you offered to take their jackets for them."

"…Sorry I brought it up."

There came a knock at the door just as soon as the doctor reached into the oven to check his dish.

"Oh, of course! Would you be a doll and get that for me, Ralphie?"

"Uh, sure," the worker said almost reluctantly, folding the paper and hoisting himself up from the sofa. Once he pulled open the door, he stared down at a wide-eyed Sander Cohen. He was alone…strange. John said Ryan would be with him. He devoured the tall Italian with his eyes.

"…Hel_lo_," Cohen giggled, staring hungrily at Ralph.

"Uh…hi?"

"My, you're a big fellow, aren't you?"

"Couple people have told me that."

"You wouldn't happen to know if a Dr. J.S. Steinman is home, would you?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, so this _is_ his apartment! I thought my eyes had finally failed me," the artist said, tapping the nameplate on the wall. "Did this apartment come with the furnishings?"

"Huh?"

"I only meant 'what's a handsome, masculine brute like yourself doing around here'?"

"I'm his partner."

"Ah, yes! The dockhand we've heard so much about, yes." Another man exited the elevator shaft seconds later.

"I apologise for that. He wasn't home," he said, standing at Cohen's side. He stared up at Ralph. Ralph stared back down.

It was him…Andrew Ryan.

The whole reason Ralph was at Steinman's in the first place. He admired the total lack of fear and intimidation in Ryan's stare. The man radiated confidence and power. Even though he was taller and stronger than Ryan, the worker was very intimidated by him. Ralph wondered how he was ever going to be able to talk to him.

"Good! You both made it!" the surgeon said, appearing next to the big stevedore. "Come in, come in!" The pair entered, watching the dockhand, both in their own ways.

"Oh, Ralph! I thought I told you to put a shirt on!" Steinman scolded. Ralph had only his undershirt on over his massive torso.

"Mm, don't _bother_," Cohen swooned.

"Fine, fine," he answered, lumbering down the hallway.

"He'll be right back."

"When you mentioned his muscle structure…you weren't kidding," Sander commented.

"Has he ever taken anything from the Sports Boost line?" Ryan furthered.

"Nope! He says he's never had a single plasmid. He sculpted all of that himself on the surface…" John said dreamily, watching the hall.

Ralph returned, sporting a striped polo shirt unbuttoned to his mid-chest. It revealed a large portion of his Navy tattoo, as well as most of his sleeves.

"Andrew, Sander, I'd like you to meet my partner, Ralph Barsetti. Ralph, these are my dearest friends, Sander Cohen and Andrew Ryan, himself."

"The pleasure's all mine, I assure you…" Sander stated. Ralph shook the artist's hand, disgusted by his weak grip.

"Yeah…nice to meet ya." He turned to Ryan, almost speechless. "Um…i-it's sure an honour, sir," he said, shaking Ryan's hand. Even compared to the worker, he had a strong grip.

"Thank you, Ralph. John's told us all about you."

"N-Nothin' good, I bet."

"Actually, the very opposite."

"Well! Dinner won't be ready for at least another ten minutes," the surgeon said, looking at his watch. "Why don't we get situated in the den? You two know you're always welcome to make yourselves at home."

"Here," Sander said, tossing his jacket at Ralph. "Oh, and do be careful with it, my monosyllabic friend."

"What'd you call me?" sneered Ralph, tearing the silk jacket from his head. Cohen had already situated himself on the loveseat. Barsetti growled; he already hated this "artist".

"…Want me to take your sweater or somethin', Mr. Ryan?" he offered.

"No…thank you."

Ralph moved around the sofa, getting comfortable next to Steinman, placing one of his big hands on his inner thigh, dangerously close to his genitals. John threaded his arm through Ralph's, stroking his muscled forearm.

"So…you two have been together for—"

"Three months," John answered, looking up at Ralph, who smiled in return. "I can't quite recall the last time I was this happy. Except for maybe when I first arrived in Rapture." He made sure to add a bit of boot-licking in the presence of Ryan.

"Yes. I've noticed a change in your attitude in the last few months."

"Where did you two meet again? At your office, John?"

"We sure did. He came right down to the Aesthetic Ideals. My watchdog, Petunia, insisted that he needed an appointment to see me, but, I let this one slide." Ralph wrapped his other arm around John's shoulders, leaning closer. Steinman stroked his cheek. "I was terrified of him at first, and I admit I wasn't too keen on dating a stevedore, but…he was just so charming and handsome…I gave him a second chance. I'm glad I did."

"How much can you lift, Mr. Barsetti?" Cohen asked.

"I've benched about three-twenty. And you can just call me Ralph."

"Very well…Ralph. How long have you been living here in Rapture?"

"Since about fifty-two. You been here since the beginnin'?"

"I have. John and I were both invited here by Mr. Ryan," Cohen answered.

"Well, that makes sense. You're both talented and stuff. I don't know the first thing about art or surgery."

"Tell Sander what you told me the other day, sweetie," Steinman said, patting his knee.

"Oh, yeah. I really liked that record you made, 'Beneath the Ocean' or somethin'? I don't remember—"

"No, no, you're correct. You did like it?"

"Yeah, I did. I listened to it on John's hi-fi the other day," Ralph said, nodding towards the record player.

Sander Cohen instantly looked more interested in the big dockhand. "…You don't say…"

"Yeah. I like that kind of music. It sorta reminds me of when I was growin' up back in Chicago."

"…Why thank you, Ralph. If you'll allow me a compliment, you certainly look nice in stripes."

"Thanks. I usually don't like to wear 'em because they remind me of…I just don't."

"But you look so handsome, honeybear," the doctor added.

"Thanks, pudding cup." They kissed somewhat roughly. Ryan fancied Sander with a lightly disgusted look. Cohen found himself unable to agree.

"So! Speaking of which, Sander…how's your newest play coming along?"

"Fine, fine. I think having it on stage in another two months is a very realistic goal."

"I'm sure we'll all be eager to see it. Ralph, too."

"Of course you will! Er, John? Aren't we missing something?" Cohen pantomimed raising a glass.

"Oh, of course! The most important part! Pick your poison, gents."

"Why don't you make some of those chocolate martinis, John?" suggested Ryan.

"Excellent idea, Andrew!" agreed the artist.

"Oh, why don't we save those for after dinner? We can have them with the cake I made."

"I'm excited for _that_," Ralph commented.

"You're excited for anything I make, pumpkin," John corrected.

"In that case, I'll take a gin and tonic," ordered Ryan.

"Sander?"

"Rum and spice, if you would."

"Ralph?"

"Just grab me a beer."

"Are you sure, pumpkin?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Don't feel adventurous to-night?" Steinman pressed on over his shoulder, setting the designated bottles and glasses on the countertop.

"Maybe later."

"Sorry I don't have any Moonbeam, Sander."

"Thank god! I'm practically swimming in the stuff at home."

There was a slightly uneasy moment between the guests and the worker as John prepared the beverages. Ralph searched and searched for questions to ask Ryan, questions that might yield helpful answers for Fontaine, but he came up dry. The wealthy gentleman was the first to speak.

"…John mentioned that you work as a stevedore?"

"Um, yeah. I do. Down at Port Neptune."

"Did you do the same work when you lived on the surface?"

"Uh…sorta. I joined the Navy during the war, was in service from forty-one 'til it ended in forty-five. Before that I was a…I was a business man, of sorts…thanks, John," he said, accepting the bottle. "After the war, I worked a couple different odd jobs. I moved from Chicago to New York. I was a cab driver for a while, bussed tables at a couple of restaurants, worked in a couple factories, and did some work at the piers and ports in the Big Apple."

"You must know your way around the city, then, eh?" Ryan chuckled.

"Yeah, I uh, I guess I do."

"You mentioned you were originally from Chicago, correct?"

"Yep. Was born and bred there."

"…You're very handsome, Mr. Barsetti, in a rugged, ruffian sort of way. What were your parent's races?" Cohen enquired, looked highly interested, inching a bit closer.

"Sander, curb your enthusiasm," Ryan said to his drink.

"What? I'm not allowed to compliment him?"

"No, no, it's okay, Mr. Ryan. Thanks. My uh, old man was Irish and my ma was Italian. I take after her side of the family. Hers was full of good-lookin' Paisans," chuckled Ralph, raising his bottle to his lips.

"I can tell. John sure made a fine catch."

"I'm very fortunate," agreed the surgeon, squeezing his partner's knee.

"What part of Italy?"

"Palermo, which is on the west coast of Sicily."

Cohen and Ryan exchanged looks.

"Yeah, I know, it's where the mob started. My family wasn't involved with them ,though."

"My father was a Jew and my mother was a failed actress. I suppose I get it honestly. Though, I'm not particularly interested in religion," Sander replied, studying his glass.

"Well, you're not a failure, though, Mr. Cohen. You're the most popular artist and actor in Rapture," Barsetti commented.

Sander smiled charmingly, inching a bit closer on the loveseat. "…I like you, Mr. Barsetti. I think we're going to get along just fine."

"Ralph said he wants to come see your production once it's finished," Steinman added. Ralph didn't remember saying anything of the sort.

"Uh, John, I—"

"Oh, I do hope you'll bring him with!" He waited until John had gotten up before he continued. "…I'd love for you to, er…come, Mr. Barsetti."

"Ah yes! Dinner is ready, gentlemen!" Steinman said, rounding on the oven.

"That better be lasagna I smell," Cohen stated, rising and smoothing down his hair.

"It most certainly is! But you've got some competition, Sander. This is Ralph's favourite, too!"

Both men shared a glance.

"…You don't say," Sander said with a sly smile.

"Come now, you both can very easily talk at the table," Ryan said, promptly sitting down.

"Need any help, Johnny?" Ralph offered, hovering over the stovetop hungrily.

"Would you? Here, take this and set it on the—careful! It's hot!"

"I can handle it, Johnny, relax."

"Tell them they can begin, they don't have to wait for me." John pulled the pan of lasagna out of the oven. "…Ralph, stop staring. You'll get it in a moment. Now, take that dish of Zucchini Pomodori out to Ryan and Cohen."

"You forgot the '_e_'."

"What?"

"_Zucchini e Pomodori_. Without the 'and', it just doesn't make any sense," grinned Ralph cheekily.

"…Go serve them."

The big dockhand did as told, occasionally looking over his shoulder, waiting for the main course. He placed the bowl on the table in the dining room. As he turned to reenter the kitchen, he felt something on his rear. Starting lightly, he discovered an innocent-looking Sander Cohen.

"Hey! Lay off, will ya?"

"What are you talking about, Mr. Barsetti?"

"You just pinched me!"

"I did nothing of the sort."

"Yeah, you did. I felt it."

"Sander, keep your hands to yourself. I saw that," Ryan vouched, placing his napkin in his lap.

"…Pardon _me_," Cohen said to himself, watching the muscular worker as he left the dining room. Ralph hadn't quite got to the kitchen before Steinman appeared with the pan.

"That's all Ralph, you can sit down now."

"You sure, babe?"

"I'm sure."

"I've been looking forward to this, John. The cook at my home is…average…and Diane refuses to make anything for me. Just as well. She isn't that talented, either."

"Well, thank you, Mr. Ryan. But, I've already got a husband," he said, winking at Ralph as he handed Ryan a knife for the lasagna, blade first.

"Careful with that, John."

"Sorry! I er, have a tendency to take my work home with me, right, Ralph?"

"I don't get a word of that medical jargon, but, you're cute when you talk about surgery," he smiled in response.

"I have Fitzpatrick cook for me on the occasion. Kyle's not bad, but, he can't hold a candle to you, Steinman. Cobb isn't bad either, surprisingly. He has a tendency to make a lot of, what do they call it? Comfort food, I guess. He's originally from Tennessee, after all."

"I don't cook, but I know a lot of Italian recipes and food and stuff," Ralph added, anxiously waiting for his turn.

"When we were first dating, the first few meals I made for him were all Italian. I thought it was going to offend him," Steinman chimed in.

"Boy, were you wrong…" his lover replied.

"I take it Martin doesn't cook for you at all?"

"Oh no! He's the least obvious of them all. Neither does Hector. I don't suppose I could get him away from the bar long enough to do anything at all, really."

"…You got four guys hangin' 'round you?" Ralph asked, cautious.

"My disciples, yes. We've er…been workin' closely with each other for a few years. Silas Cobb owns Rapture Records, Kyle Fitzpatrick is a rather outstanding pianist, Martin Finnegan's an actor, he's been in my…plays, quite a few times, and Hector Rodriguez…is an alcoholic."

Ryan had to laugh at this, sipping his wine.

"Why keep him around?" Barsetti furthered.

"I have my reasons…" Cohen answered, stroking the stem of his wine glass. "He was actually a rising star in the world of band leaders on the surface. Better than any Dorsey or Miller. He began and led the Rapture City Orchestra for a short time, but, as you've already heard, he has a problem with alcohol. Shame, really. He's actually very talented, he can play a variety of instruments. We just can't get him away from the bar long enough."

"My dad was an alkie. I know what you're talkin' about," Ralph said.

"Is there anything you could do with him, Ralph?" Sander enquired. "I've exhausted nearly all of my effort."

"Well, I mainly just stayed away from my old man. He was a mean drunk. He used to beat us. All of us."

"Hector's the same way. Well, he usually can't stand up long enough to do any real damage. He's quite the lout. Gets very nasty when he's been drinking."

"Guess I could give him a bit of 'tough love'. You ever try that, Mr. Cohen?"

"Oh, it's all Cobb and Finnegan do. They usually rotate."

"Sounds kinda kinky," Ralph chuckled heartily, cracking a bottle of beer and taking a swig. Cohen laughed along with him.

"…Anyway, have you been busy at the Medical Pavilion, Steinman? This is excellent, by the way."

"Thank you, Mr. Ryan! Yes, things are just as busy as ever. Between my schedule and Ralph's, there are often nights were we don't get to see each other."

"That must tear you up inside," Ryan muttered to himself.

"It's unfortunate, yes," Steinman answered. Ralph felt one of his lover's hands as he patted it. He also felt something underneath the table. He stole a look. Hoping it was John, he was irritated to find that it was the artist, again. Barsetti felt Cohen's shin grazing his playfully. He smiled charmingly at the stevedore, winking. Ralph mouthed "Knock it off", narrowing his gaze menacingly. Cohen continued smiling, unfazed by his threats.

"Is everything running smoothly at Hephaestus, Mr. Ryan?" the surgeon asked.

"Hardly. If something doesn't need to be repaired, someone is requesting to see me for a pointless meeting. I can't begin to fathom how much of my life has been wasted listening to people blather on about one thing or another."

"How's Diane doing?"

"Fine…I suppose." Taking a sip from his wine glass, he glanced over at Ralph. The big stevedore was wolfing down his food greedily, as if someone were to take his plate away at any moment. He scowled as he watched him. Steinman took notice. Clearing his throat, he nudged his lover.

"Er, Ralph?"

"Hm?"

"Could you eat a little slower, perhaps?"

"What's wrong with the way I eat?"

"It's just that you're eating like a hungry wolf."

"Which is a nice way of sayin' 'like a starving jerk from Apollo Square'?" retorted Ralph.

"No, it's disgusting is all," replied Steinman.

"There's no need to argue, you two. I think Ralph looks positively…manly. Let him eat how he wishes," Cohen gave his two cents.

Something blinked on in Ralph's mind: his mission from Fontaine. Reluctantly recalling his orders, he realised if Ryan had any sort of problem with him, he'd ruin his chances of ever collecting any information.

"Oh, uh, thanks, Mr. Cohen. But um…I guess I could go a little slower. I tend to get belly-aches if I eat too fast. I can't help it, though. This is my favourite of John's meals and I missed lunch to-day."

"I don't blame you, Mr. Barsetti. It's mine as well," Sander added.

"Yeah…I bet."

The rest of the meal coasted with more ease. Ralph was beginning to appreciate Ryan more, and vice versa. They shared several conversations apart from Cohen and Steinman, mainly regarding work and the creation of Rapture. The issue at hand wasn't entertaining Mr. Ryan anymore…it was avoiding Cohen's advances. The artist had continued his subtle, gentle touches, trying to win-over the burly stevedore. Thus far, his attempts had failed; Ralph was more repulsed than aroused.

They relocated to the den when finished.

"Would you mind, John?" Ryan enquired, pulling his pipe from inside his sweater.

"Not at all! I'll keep you company."

"Thank you."

"Care to join us, either of you?" the surgeon offered the remaining guests.

"No, no, I'm not quite ready yet. I think I'll stay here and keep an eye on your burly lover," Sander replied. Steinman frowned lightly. Cohen seemed to have taken a liking to Ralph…a big liking. He, too, had noticed one or two touches aimed at his lover. He would have been more comfortable if they weren't alone together.

"I'd er, like to talk to you about something, John," Ryan said softly, pulling him aside as they made their way down the hall.

"Sure, Andrew. Whatever you'd like."

Sander sighed loudly and dramatically once the pair had exited to the balcony. He looked over to the muscular dockworker. Ralph had both his arms stretched across the tops of the cushions, drumming his fingers. The artist stood up from the loveseat slowly and nonchalantly.

"It was getting awfully lonely over there," he said, choosing a seat right up next to the worker. Ralph favoured him with a look of repulsion. Cohen smiled slyly at him, placing a hand on his knee.

"What can I do for you, Ryan?" Steinman enquired, slipping his hands into his pockets. Ryan stared straight ahead, pensively, lighting his pipe.

"…I have some reservations regarding your stevedore, John."

The surgeon turned to him, confused.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Ryan?"

"I don't entirely trust him."

"Could've fooled me. You two seemed to get along pretty well at dinner."

"…I didn't wish to be so blatantly rude in your home. Also, I knew if I waited long enough, he'd tell me everything. People will do that…one has only to listen."

"Well…you aren't posting any haste in telling me now. Don't you think you're jumping to conclusions?"

"I believe not, John. In this city, now, there are heroes…and there are criminals. Smugglers and those running contraband, like Fontaine, are threatening to expose the location of our city to the parasites on the surface."

"Are you saying Ralph is a criminal? And what does Ralph have to do with Fontaine?"

"He certainly isn't a hero. What does that leave us? He mentioned that half of his lineage lies in Sicily…where the Mafia began. He also said he was born and raised in Chicago. Chicago was one of the cities most notorious for its Italian crime families. Barsetti also has many tattoos…many. Ones that look like they were done in prison. It's much the same in Russia."

"…He was helping his family…"

"I'm sorry?"

"…I said he only did it because he was helping his family!" Steinman surprised himself at the volume of his voice.

"…Hm…" Ryan took a few puffs on his pipe. John leaned on the railing, staring coldly at the city and the sea. "…Who's to say he won't revert back to his old ways?"

"He wouldn't do that, Mr. Ryan. We've talked about this many times. He's remorseful for what he's done in the past. Even at the time, he wished he would have had more options to provide income, but there were none."

"If he hasn't chosen to defend this city…he's against it."

"He's not against it," defended the surgeon. He cast his eyes back to the ocean, sighing through his nose. "…_I_ think he's a hero." A pause.

"I don't understand why, of all the eligible, talented…men…in this city, you chose a stevedore from Port Neptune. With your aesthetics, talent, and popularity, you could have nearly anyone you wanted as a significant other. I could understand why he approached you, filled with fantasies of being with one of Rapture's best and brightest, but not the other way around."

_If that's true, why haven't I ever been awarded Best and Brightest_, thought Steinman. "True, I must admit that I was anything but eager to date him or engage in any sort of relationship with him in the beginning; I mainly wanted him around because of his body, but…he grew on me. He's like a familiar. He's always around, especially when I need him, and he's helpful, encouraging, caring…he's everything I need. I love him, Mr. Ryan. I haven't felt this much affection for another human being in years. I feel a mutual love from him, as well. That's something I never quite received from my last lover."

Ryan was quiet for a moment, digesting what he had heard, staring at him with his hard eyes. "Well…we'll find out soon enough. In the mean time…watch him. I believe there's more to our friend the stevedore than meets the eye."

Steinman gripped the railing on the balcony. "…I'm sorry, sir. I don't agree."

"No…_I'm_ sorry you don't agree."

"…You a faerie, too?" asked the dockhand.

"You couldn't tell?"

A shrug. "Well…guess it was a little obvious."

"Please! I'm active in the theatrical community, wear makeup, and have four men at my beck and call. I

think it was more than a 'little' obvious."

"Guess you got me there."

"You and John hide it well. I didn't know until he told me himself, though I had my suspicions. If I hadn't known better, I would have _never_ guessed _you_ fancied men."

"Guess I can use that to my advantage."

"I think it's easier when you're immersed in the world of art. Once in a while, one gets the odd doubter who condemns them and their work for it, but, for the most part, one can usually thrive." Cohen had inched even closer and had by now taken to stroking Barsetti's thigh tenderly, the way he himself had done to Steinman on one of their first dates. Ralph thought John was much more attractive and felt a sense of anxiety under the artist's touch. Before Ralph could say anything, his hand moved up to his forearm, tracing the cursive names with an index finger.

"You were a sailor…won't you show me all of your tattoos? I know you must have more…"

"I do."

"Well…?"

The Italian looked over to the hall, making sure John wouldn't catch them. The sofa was angled so he wouldn't be able to see unless he was just entering the den.

"…Okay. But only some." He offered the arm Sander had been touching. Cohen immediately got comfortable, looking more interested. "…This says 'family' in Italian, and I've got the names of my ma, my little sister, and my big brother."

"How nice…"

"My ma's maiden name was Barsetti, so I've got it written up here." He moved to the other arm. "Like I said, my old man was Irish, so I got some Celtic knots here. I kinda regret it now. He was a bastard. I hated him. Up here, all the way to my neck, I got some Eskimo animals. I dunno. I liked the way they look and they're supposed to bring like, protection and good luck and stuff. I need all the help I can get."

"Fascinating…" Cohen said, studying his neck closely. "And what does John think of them?"

"Well, he said he's not a fan of tattoos, but, I guess he likes my ink. I think maybe he just wants an excuse to look at my body."

"I don't blame him…"

"You got any, Mr. Cohen?"

"Oh no! Not me! But my disciples Silas and Martin have a few. You ought to come over. It'll give you boys something to talk about." The artist took the end of Ralph's shirt, sliding it up carefully. "Any more?"

Barsetti pushed his shirt back down. "…No."

"Then what's that on your chest?"

"…"

"You're going to have to do better than that, Mr. Barsetti." He was just about ready to try once more, when Steinman reentered the apartment. Cohen immediately inched away from Ralph. He pulled out a small pocket mirror, checking his elaborate moustache.

"Hey, pudding cup," the stevedore greeted, standing and meeting his partner.

"Miss me, honeybear?"

"Yeah, I was cryin'. You have a nice chat with Mr. Ryan?"

"It was, er…a deep discussion, I suppose."

Ralph stroked one of his cheeks gently. "I'm gonna go have a smoke, okay?"

"Okay."

Cohen watched them as they kissed tenderly. John patted his rear as he turned to the hall. The surgeon settled down in his place, next to the artist.

"Did you two have a nice little conversation?"

"We did. We got a bit more…comfortable, which each other."

"I see you've taken to my dockhand very well."

"Are you sure you need glasses? Your sight seems pretty keen."

"Keen enough to watch you closely. I've noticed you've been very…eager, to get close to Ralph. To speak with him…perhaps to touch him?"

"Who wouldn't? He's one of the most well-built men I've seen!"

"Er, yes, indeed. Sander…" he began, turning his body towards him.

"Hm?"

"You do realise that Ralph Barsetti is _my_ lover, correct?"

"Oh, without a doubt."

"Then, if you would, keep your hands off of him…your eyes, too. You wouldn't want to trespass in my territory."

"Oh, _your_ territory?"

"Exactly. You have four perfectly useful men at Fort Frolic. Were I in your place, I'd stick with them. Besides, you wouldn't be able to handle Ralph. He's, er…nine and a half long by six around. I think you'd have difficulty accommodating that ship and cargo."

Cohen shot him a look that registered both disbelief and hatred; Steinman smiled triumphantly.

"Another drink, Mr. Cohen?"

"…No…thank you."

Ryan turned as he heard the sliding glass door open. Ralph looked up, a cigarette hanging limply from his lip.

"Oh…you still out here, Mr. Ryan?"

"I am."

"You uh, don't mind if I join you, do ya?" asked Barsetti.

"Not at all."

Ralph snapped open his lighter, taking a few puffs.

"You smoke cigarettes?"

"Yeah, have for…too long. I really should quit. Do you?"

"Occasionally, but I prefer the pipe. What brand?"

"Nico-Time. It's the only thing I can really afford." Ryan didn't reply right away. The worker leaned on the railing.

"I prefer Oxford Clubs when I do."

"You can also afford 'em. You can probably afford anything in this city. You built it."

"I did not build Rapture. The strength of will of the citizens is what built it."

"…Guess if you wanna get technical…" Ralph muttered, studying his cigarette.

"You mentioned you were a businessman before the war. What line of business were you in?"

"Um…" Ralph felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end; his face suddenly grew hot. "Uh, er, sorta, trades."

"What sort of trading?"

"Er—"

"Importing-exporting, perhaps?"

"Yeah! Yeah, importing-exporting, sorta."

"Which firm? Or company?"

"Uh…"

Ryan had him figured from the start. He was just toying with him now. "…You belonged to an organised crime family, didn't you?"

Barsetti released the breath he wasn't even aware he'd been holding. "Okay, ya got me. I did work in the mob before the war. But I only did it because there was no other way for me to make a good income for my family. I had a younger sister still in school, an older brother, and an overworked ma. I loved her more than anyone on the green Earth and did whatever I could to support her. Judge me or hate me or whatever, but I'm tellin' you the truth. I ain't proud of it, I don't advertise the fact I was in the mob, and I don't encourage it."

Ryan eased off a bit. His story matched up with John's; he was most likely telling the truth. He wasn't going to give up so easily, though. Having former mob connections and being active at the docks in Port Neptune, very near to Fontaine Fisheries, made for a potentially deadly combination, Ryan's least favourite combination.

"…You are indeed a rugged man, Barsetti. It's easy to see how you've managed to win over the doctor."

"Thanks, Mr. Ryan." He sighed. "I don't really think I'm anything special, though."

"Steinman likes you very much. In fact, you were the main topic during our little…discussion."

"Oh?"

Ryan nodded.

"Did he talk about what a big oaf I am?"

"On the contrary, he sang your praises quite loudly. You make him very happy."

"Well, that certainly makes me feel good."

"…Dr. Steinman is one of my dearest friends. I invited him here personally and I admire and respect him greatly. It would be a dire shame if he were to come under any mental or emotional strain…"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I mean this: if you double-cross him or use him in any way…I'll make sure you pay for it. I'll be frank with you, Barsetti. I don't entirely trust you. There's a part of me that wants to believe you have ulterior motives for being romantically involved with someone like John Steinman. I also don't trust men who work at the docks…especially those who are in contact with the…fisheries…there. I'm wary about you, Ralph…unless you can prove me otherwise. Also know this: I'm not afraid of you. Your size and strength perhaps double mine, but I do not fear you in the least." That being said, he placed his pipe back between his teeth. Ralph was completely humbled by everything he had just heard. He was also greatly offended. It was true; everyone down here still viewed him as a criminal and a low-life.

"…I figured…" He paused. "Well…I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr. Ryan. I guess it's my turn now. I love John. A lot. Like really a lot. All my life, I've had people treat me like shit. My dad did, almost all of my bosses, supervisors, foremans, whatever…everyone. I had a hard time growin' up, dealin' with money, and tryin' to take care of my family, my jobs, and bein' homosexual. You probably don't know what that's like, but it's hard. Really hard. When people hate you for who you love and stuff. I've lost jobs and friends because of it. But, ever since I met John…I don't really have troubles any more. It feels like I found a piece of me that was missin'. Like, like I'm whole or somethin'. Long story short, I like this feeling. John makes me feel good; he's a good guy and an incredible lover. I want to be with him for…forever. I won't use him…I won't hurt him."

"…I am witness to this statement, you know."

"Witness or not, it's the truth. I don't like liars."

"Keep it that way."

In the wake of their conversation, Ralph forgot all about the laundry list of questions he had compiled for him.

"Ah, you're just in time! Care for another drink, Mr. Ryan?" Steinman questioned.

"Not for me, John. Thank you."

"Sure, I'll take one," Ralph replied.

Sander sat bitterly on the sofa, glaring at the television, which was turned off. Ryan lowered to the armchair he had occupied for most of the evening.

"I'll be right back, my big, strong, cuddly, cuddly honeybear!" John said sickeningly, rubbing noses with Ralph.

"Be quick, my little, tasty pudding cup," replied the monstrous worker.

"I've never seen John act like this. It's nauseating," Ryan whispered to Cohen.

"Tell me about it…"

As soon as the surgeon stood to his full height, Ralph hauled-off and smacked him on the rear. John squeaked, laughing giddily.

"You naughty boy!"

"What, are you gonna send me to my room?"

"I'll be in to discipline you later…"

They both giggled, John finally departing. Ralph leaned back on the sofa, locking his hands behind his head. A few moments time saw him noticing the looks he was receiving from Ryan and Cohen.

"…What?" he asked, shrugging. Cohen looked away, a haughty sneer gracing his features. Ryan still stared at him, rather accusingly. Ralph grunted, seising his bottle of beer from the coffee table. He chugged the last half with only a few gulps. Slamming it back down on the coaster, he belched loudly, getting comfortable once more. Steinman returned, rounding on the sofa. Setting another beer in front of his lover, he collapsed into Ralph's lap, draping one arm around his shoulders. Barsetti pulled him closer, rubbing one of his thighs.

"John?"

"Yes, Andrew?"

"Do you plan on keeping comfortable with your…lover…for the remainder of the evening? Because if you are, then perhaps we should leave you two alone."

"Oh, well…I wanted you both to get acquainted with Ralph. Since he's my lover and you are my two closest friends, I thought that maybe—" he giggled wildly as he felt one of his lover's hands sneak up his shirt, running along his bare skin.

"See what I mean?"

"Ralph just likes to touch. Don't you, sweetie?"

"I certainly do, cookie."

"I don't do this with Diane when I invite you over," Ryan retorted.

"That's because you don't love her."

"I wasn't aware that you were dictating my feelings."

Steinman looked over at the clock on the wall. "Well, it does seem to be getting all the later anyway. Would you like to call it a night, gentlemen?"

"That's perhaps best. Some of us have to be up early," Ryan said to Cohen in particular.

"Don't be crass…you're just jealous," he taunted.

The doctor rose from his lover's lap, seeing his guests to the door. Ralph followed as well.

"Thank you very much for the invite and for dinner, John," Ryan nodded.

"Yes, thank you indeed. I'm glad to see you made my favourite."

"You're both very welcome. You know it's always my pleasure. We'll have to do this again sometime soon, eh?"

"Keep us posted, John," Cohen replied. John shook Ryan's hand; he and Cohen exchanged competitive looks.

"…It sure was an honour, Mr. Ryan, meetin' you. I never thought I'd be in the company of people who were rich and famous," Ralph complimented, offering his hand. Ryan shook it firmly, looking into the worker's eyes.

"…Thank you, Barsetti. I enjoyed your company as well. You're better than what I had originally made you out to be. But I am still keeping an eye on you," he whispered the last bit.

"Go right ahead, sir. What ya see might surprise you."

Sander hung back whilst Ryan left the apartment. He was quick to produce a small card from inside his jacket. He slipped it into a breast pocket on Ralph's.

"Stop by sometime, little moth. I have a few…jobs…I could use you for," the artist said softly. "Don't tell John, though. He might get suspicious." Cohen looked him up and down one last time, touching his forearm gently. "Lovely meeting you, Mr. Barsetti. Farewell, for now."

"Uh, yeah…see ya." The dockhand shut the door slowly, removing the card from his pocket. Cohen had written his address and apartment number on the shiny cardstock. As he watched it in the light, he grimaced slightly. He reflected on the way Sander had acted around him all night; the artist wanted him…badly.

"Well, guess I can't blame him. I belong to Johnny-boy, though," he sighed to himself. For some unexplained reason, he slipped the card back into his pocket. John reappeared, collapsing on the sofa with a loud, dramatic sigh.

"My! What a night this has been! Working, cooking, drinking, entertaining…"

Ralph sidled up to the sofa after hanging up his jacket, leaning over his lover. "…Loving?"

Steinman smiled, reaching up and stroking one of the big man's cheeks. "I don't know, Ralphie. I'm tired. I've had a busy day."

Barsetti shrugged. "I'll take cuddlin', doesn't matter."

"Ooh…now this sounds like a good idea. Why don't you get comfortable while I clean up the kitchen?"

Ralph looked thoughtful. "…How about _you_ go get comfortable and _I'll_ clean up the kitchen."

"…That's the sexiest thing I've ever heard you say to me."

"Oh, really? We'll see about that…" The big Italian leaned down, kissing his lover's lips upside-down. "Go get cozy, pudding cup. I'll be right in."

"Thanks, honeybear…"

It didn't last for long, though. Five minutes after Ralph had set about at the sink, John wandered back in clad in his robe.

"I thought I told you to get cozy?" laughed Barsetti, acknowledging him.

"I did, but, the thought of you in here with all of the dishes, by yourself, was eating me up inside."

"Have you forgotten that I was a busboy and a dishwasher for two years?"

"…I know…"

"C'mon, Johnny. Go and get cuddled up again and I'll be in as soon as I'm done. I've only got a few more. Then I'll come in and give you a big, warm bunkmate to snuggle with."

"…You have no idea how anxious I am," he answered, sidling up next to him, stroking his arm. Ralph couldn't remember the last time he had scrubbed dishes so quickly.

Steinman's room was fairly dark. Soft, dim light clawed its way in around the perimeter of the curtains from the bright buildings outside. The light over the kitchen sink also allowed for faint illumination down the hallway. His heart beat a little quicker as he saw Ralph's massive shadow stretching towards his room and his heavy footsteps. He lumbered through the doorway, smiling at his bedded lover.

"Hey, gorgeous."

"Finished?"

"Yep." Ralph pulled his shirt and undershirt over his head, tossing them over the footboard of the bed. Moving around to his side, he unbuttoned his pants, slipping them off. "Room for one more, baby doll?"

"You had to ask?"

Barsetti crawled under the covers, snuggling up to his partner. "I been waitin' for this all evening—"

"Ooh! Your hands are cold!"

"Are they? Here, gimme a second." Ralph wedged his hand between his thighs, warming it up. While he waited, he nestled into the nape of John's neck, taking in a deep breath.

"You always smell so good, babe."

"I try."

"So…do you think mom and dad approve?"

"…Ryan spoke with me in private."

"Uh oh."

Steinman turned on his back, looking up into Ralph's blue irises. "…He said he doesn't trust you, because you work at the docks. I've got a sneaking suspicion he doesn't want us to be together."

"Yeah, he kinda told me the same thing outside."

John sat up. "You spoke with him?"

"Yeah, we were both smokin' and he told me that he'd make me pay if I hurt you and that he didn't trust me because I'm a dockhand. He knew I was in the Mafia from the get-go."

"…It's none of his business who I'm with! It's no one's business!"

"Hey, hey…relax, Johnny. Don't think about that now. We're here alone, we got each other…and you've got a nice, warm lover right here. How's this?"

"…Mm, better."

Steinman felt the massive hand running down the length of his body, starting at his neck and ending at his mid-thigh. He felt the calloused fingers and palm running against his smooth, warm skin.

"You still got your briefs on, Johnny?"

"I always do." He felt Ralph's hand slip underneath them at the leg.

"…Can I take 'em off?"

"Well—"

"I took mine off." He pressed himself against John's rear. The surgeon felt him.

"…Sure, Ralph. But I just want to cuddle to-night. I'm too tired for sex."

"Even if I do all the work?"

"Ralph…" He rubbed his nose against his lover's. "Maybe to-morrow, okay?"

"Yeah…okay." The big stevedore was let down. He dearly wanted to make love to his partner; he was very horny. Instead, John snuggled down deeply into his chest, massaging one of his pectorals. Ralph nuzzled into Steinman's brown hair, taking in the nice, clean scent.

_Eh, this is good enough_, he thought to himself, just before allowing sleep to take its hold.


	13. Phase 13

Phase 13-August, 1958

"Ralph, I have something very important to discuss with you," John said rather formally, adjusting his lover's uneven suspenders until they were both the same length.

"Okay, Johnny, hit me."

"Well, you and I have been together for four months," he began, placing his hands into his lap.

"That long already?"

"Mm-hm. Anyway, I wanted to let you know that, well…" he giggled, his cheeks turning red. "…I really, really like you Ralph. You're my best friend and someone I can confide in, someone who won't judge me, someone I can cuddle with into the small hours of the morning."

"It's an honourable position, if I do say so myself. I feel the same about you, John. You don't care that I'm a bruiser, or that I was in the mob, or prison, or any of that stuff. I love how you take me for who I am and you're willin' to put my past behind me." Here he smiled. "And you're a damn good cook."

"…I love you, Ralph."

"I love you too, Johnny."

"And it's because of my love for you that's prompted me to ask you the following question…"

The worker cocked his head a bit, waiting on baited breath for the mysterious enquiry.

"…Would you like to move-in with me?"

Barsetti's mouth dropped open. "No way, man, no way!"

"Sure! I mean, you spend most of your time over here anyway, why not?" shrugged the doctor giddily. "I've got more than enough room…but I'd prefer if we shared a bed…it's closer to the docks than your tenant, why not?"

"Of course! Of course I'll move in with you! Aw, c'mere!" Ralph laughed, standing. He grabbed John in the tightest bear-hug he could manage, picking him up in his arms. He planted kisses all over his face and neck. Finally composing himself, he sighed deeply, still hugging his lover close. "Thank you, John. Thank you so much. This is one of the nicest things anyone's ever done for me."

"I'm so glad you're happy, Ralph. I love you, you big Dago twit."

"I love you more, my little Kraut."

"No! I love _you_ more."

"No, I…wait a second. I'm not doin' one of those."

"…I guess you're right. Those 'I love you' wars do have a tendency to nauseate me. After breakfast, you can go to your place and gather your things. How does that sound?"

"Like the perfect beginning to a perfect day. You sure you don't wanna come with?"

"I'm quite sure. I'll be blunt; I have absolutely no intention whatsoever of going to your tenant."

"Guess I don't blame ya. What's for breakfast?"

Ralph walked down to his tenant provided by Fontaine Fisheries alone. Frankly, he was glad John wanted nothing to do with it. Workers hung around in doorways and lounged up against walls. The halls were wreathed in a haze of cigarette smoke and the place reeked of unwashed laundry and a bit like urine.

_I wonder just what Johnny would say if he were here_, Ralph thought, stepping over a worker who was either asleep or unconscious on the floor.

As he unlocked the door to his tenant, Snub hung casually in the doorway next door.

"Hey, Paisan!" Ralph said happily.

"Hey, stranger. Whatcha doin' back here?" answered the other worker.

"Oh, Snub! Guess what just happened this morning!"

"Fontaine decided to give us all the day off and take us out for drinks?"

"Fat chance! John asked me to move in with him! Can ya believe it?! He actually wants me to live with him!"

Snub felt a wave of shock. "So…ya won't be livin' here no more?"

"Nope! I came down to get my stuff. I'm gettin' situated over there to-day. Hey, I'm glad you're here! You busy at all at the moment?"

"Nah. Gotta do some runnin' around later, though. For the Kraut dame. But that's it."

"D'ya think you could help me? Carry a few things?"

"What, he didn't come down and help ya?"

"You kiddin'? He didn't want nothin' to do with this place. Don't blame him either. C'mon, I'll buy ya a drink when we're through!" Ralph said eagerly, patting one of his buddy's shoulders roughly.

The other worker let his head lowered slightly, taking the cigarette that had been hanging from his lip and placing it behind one of his ears.

Snub was just as impressed as Ralph when he stepped inside Steinman's complex for the first time. He was preoccupied with taking in his surroundings, almost dropping one or two things. Ralph didn't have much to carry, as he had very little material possessions.

"Mornin', Walter!" the big worker greeted the elevator attendant.

"Mornin' again, Mistah Ralph!" He took notice of the few boxes and such. "You all gone out shoppin', Mistah Ralph?"

"Not quite, Walt. I'm uh…movin' in. Got a place up on the sixth floor."

"Ah see ya so much, I thoughts ya already moved in."

"Nope. Just gettin' finalised now."

"Well good! I likes ya, Mistah Ralph. You all have a nice day!"

"Thanks! You too, Walter. Don't work too hard."

"…They let Negros in the city?" Snub said, a combination of both disgust and caution in his voice.

"Well, yeah. Anyone's allowed down here," challenged Ralph. His friend didn't say anything more, occasionally glancing over his shoulder, a sneer on his face. Barsetti already knew how prejudiced his friend was; he couldn't believe he forgot to tell him about Walter. He knocked on the door to Steinman's apartment brusquely.

"Shit, this guy has his own nameplate?" Snub squinted a bit, inching closer to the wall.

"He's one of the best surgeons in Rapture. He's deserving of it."

Speaking of the devil, he opened the door a second later.

"Welcome back, Ralph! Ah, I see you brought company with you?"

"Sure did! Here, let's get situated and I'll introduce you two."

They piled Barsetti's things by the door, out of the way, and they were free to converse.

"John, this is my best friend, Snub. We work down at the docks together. Snub…this is my honey, Dr. John Steinman." The stevedore pulled the surgeon close with one of his great arms, nuzzling him. They kissed lightly.

"It's a pleasure, er, Snub. Ralph talks of you often."

"Nothin' good, I'd guess," he answered, pulling his cigarette from behind his ear.

"Oh no! All good. No smoking in the apartment."

"Oh…sorry."

"You can go out on the balcony, though."

"I'll wait. S'no prob."

"Take a seat, Snub. Get cozy," offered Ralph, sitting down with Steinman on the sofa. His friend lowered to an armchair.

"So, are you Italian as well? You're both olive-skinned."

"Yeah, unfortunately. Name's actually Vincento Giannino. Everyone's been callin' me 'Snub' since I was goin' on twenty-one."

"Where did your nickname come from? Are you taken with the silent actor Snub Pollard?"

"Nah. It was actually my grandfather's nickname. He was a 'business man' from Sicily. Let's just say we had a thing or two in common," he said, reaching underneath his jacket. He pulled out a snub-nosed pistol, carefully pointing it at the ceiling. _Oh great, more mobsters_, thought Steinman.

"And you thought it was a smart idea to bring a gun into my home?" snarled Steinman, narrowing his eyes.

"I always got it with me," shrugged Giannino.

John glared up at Ralph, as if it was somehow his fault.

"Uh…Snub? Do you think you could—?"

"What? You want me to give it to security or somethin'?"

"Hang it on the coat rack and if you ever come to visit Ralph, you'd better not bring it. The consequences will be dire if you do."

Giannino complied, but mentally, he had a colourful array of words for the surgeon.

"Anyway, I really appreciate you helpin' me out, Snub. I said I'd buy you a drink after and I will. You wanna come with, Johnny?"

"Eh, maybe later. I don't wanna get back to work drunk." Snub went silent for a moment. "So…you're gonna leave me alone down there, aren'tcha?"

"You see me every day, Snub. And don't worry, I'll visit. Why you so worried in the first place? You gonna miss havin' someone to help relieve those mornin' boners?"

"Har har. Ooh, that struck a nerve," Snub chuckled, noticing the look on Steinman's face. The doctor stared up at his lover again, more accusation in his features.

"Don't worry, Johnny-boy, I was only playin'. Snub's been married twice and has a daughter."

"Well…I'll believe you. Do they live in Rapture?"

"Oh, they live in rapture, all right. On the surface."

"I don't understand."

"Eh, I don't really wanna talk about it," Snub concluded, adjusting his jacket a bit nervously. "Actually, I think I am gonna go take that cigarette. Balcony, right?"

"Yes."

Giannino hoisted himself up, heading down the short hallway.

"Sorry about the roscoe, John. I was so excited to get over here, I kinda forgot he carried it."

John kept silent, giving him one of "those" looks.

"Johnny…I said I was sorry." He stroked his thigh tenderly.

"…I should water my plants," he concluded, straightening out his vest after he stood.

Ralph sighed to himself. He figured he'd start putting away his things.

Snub turned to acknowledge Steinman as he exited his apartment. Watching him carefully, he picked up his watering can. After he'd disappeared inside again, the dockworker rolled his eyes. John was back momentarily. After watering the first plant, Snub was careful to notice that he was still watching him.

"…What? Am I not leanin' on the railing right?"

"Don't disrespect me. I reserve full rights to deny whatever I wish into _my_ home."

"Well I'm sorry. It's like…my nose. It's on my person all the time, and I occasionally notice it, but for the most part, I just let it be." He turned back to the sea. "It ain't even loaded."

"What's the point of carrying a gun that isn't loaded?"

"Sometime all ya need to do is flash it and whoever's hasslin' ya will scram."

"I lived in New York," answered Steinman. "I've heard all sorts of stories and advice on how to handle crime."

"You too? Whereabouts?"

Steinman put the can down, still watching the dockhand. "…Manhattan. Where did you live?"

"Born and bred in Little Italy. Surprise, surprise…" chuckled Snub. "So…you like our Ralphie-boy?"

Steinman chuckled lightly, staring at the sliding glass door. "Yes, I most certainly do."

"You were afraid of him at first, weren't ya?"

"I'm intimidated by no man."

"It's okay. I know a lotta guys who are insecure with their masculinity."

If Snub hadn't averted his eyes after shaking his head, he probably would have turned to stone due to the look Steinman was giving him.

"Yeah, he's a bruiser. He's a sweetheart, though. Heart of gold. He'd give ya the shirt off his back if you needed it. Gets picked on a lot, though, for bein' a faerie. Mainly by guys higher up in the business. Other guys just talk about him behind his back; they'd never chance anything to his face. Do people know you're a homo?"

"…Only a few of my close friends do. I try to keep it from my patients and co-workers. It's none of their business who I take to bed, as long as I'm a good surgeon and a pleasure to work with."

"My old man was a homo. Sweetest guy I ever met. Then the wrong people found out and he got shot for it. After that, I do what I can to make sure you people get a fair share. It's not right, ya know?"

"Sorry for your loss."

"Don't mention it. Well…actually…for some time now…I been sorta, well, curious, ya know?"

Steinman turned to him. "You mean…about being with a man?"

"Yeah," the worker said, chuckling as he shook his head. "My first wife died in a car wreck—"

"My condolences."

"Save your breath. We got into a big argument, you know, and she took the car out all in tears and whatnot. It had been rainin' all day and the roads were slick. I guess she lost control and hit a telephone pole a couple blocks from our apartment. She went through the windshield. We had a daughter, she was six when her mamma passed. I got in with another lady a few years later. Things seemed to be goin' well for a while, but she started complainin' about how I spent all my time with Regina and none with her. She left me when Reggie was twelve, you know, startin' to turn into a woman and havin' all these questions. I guess I was glad she left, though; I don't think she treated my daughter right. I'd ditch or beat anyone who hurt my daughter. I don't hit dames, though. Never have, never will. Family first…and any man who says otherwise is a complete, fuckin' idiot."

"What sort of family-man uses such vulgarity?" Steinman replied.

"You apparently ain't ever had a Sicilian mobster dad. And grandad. I was cursin' before I was talkin'. Well, excuse my language, but it's necessary in this case." He sighed, staring out at the city. "She was my baby girl. I'd do anything for her, I still would. That is, if she still wanted anything to do with me. She wanted to get married to her beau, but I didn't like of him so much. He never seemed to have a steady job, he hung out with the wrong people, trust me, I'd know, and I don't think he treated her with enough respect. Why she wanted to be with him, I'll never know. I told her that I didn't like the kid and she blew a gasket. The following day, she left our apartment, left me a note sayin' that she was elopin' with this character and that I shouldn't bother lookin' for her. Well…I did as she wanted me to. I…I let her go. Figured, if I gave her enough rope, she'd hang herself. Maybe she'd learn a lesson or two. She was always a smart girl, in school and on the streets. I just hope everything worked out for her." Silently, Snub pulled his wallet out, removing a photograph. He handed it to Steinman. The surgeon adjusted his eyeglasses, staring down at a young girl of about six or seven.

"That's her when she was little. This was her when she was graduatin' high school," he said, trading him for another photo. It was a very pretty young lady in her school sweater, obviously a senior photo.

"She's very pretty," the doctor complimented, handing the photo back. Snub stared at it, a weak smile manifesting itself across his face.

"Yeah…she was my princess. I loved her so much, I still do. She wasn't exactly planned, though, in the beginning. I was terrified about becomin' a daddy. But…when I first held her in my arms, you know, at the hospital…I dunno. It was the happiest moment of my life. I'm so glad we had her. Bein' a dad really made me grow up." He did his best to keep his tears in, tucking his wallet away. "…I don't wanna talk about it anymore," he concluded, his voice choked. John felt a bit guilty about accusing him and insulting him so. He touched his shoulder.

"You shouldn't hold in your emotions, Snub. It's not healthy. You're a very compassionate man, and you strike me as very sensitive."

"Thanks a lot."

"That's not a bad thing, I'm not insulting you. Emotional crying is completely healthy, not a sign of weakness, if that's what you're worried about."

"It's not that, Doc," Snub said, wiping one eye. "…I don't wanna start because I know I won't stop."

The surgeon smiled kindly, patting his shoulder. Snub managed to smile at him, wiping away a few tears.

"So, yeah. My relationships with women never seem to work out. I figured, ya know, maybe it might with a man. I can understand men."

"Well, don't think that you're homosexual just because of a few bad relationships. That doesn't necessarily justify it. I can't fathom why women wouldn't want to be with you. You sound like you've got a good head on your shoulders and you know where your priorities lie."

"Thanks, Doc. Appreciate it." They were silent for a few moments as they both tried to figure out where to take the conversation. "When did you know you were a homo, Doc?"

"…When I was young. Well, younger."

"How old do ya think?"

"I'd say about fifteen, sixteen. You know, when boys get to that age…"

"Did you do any…experimentin'?"

"Well, not really. That didn't happen until I was in college. I had a partner for a little while."

"Does Ralph know?"

"Yes, I told him all about him."

"…_How_ did you know?"

"…I don't really know. I guess I just sort of…knew," shrugged Steinman. "I don't know. It's different for every man. With men like Ralph, it's not so obvious to tell, given how strong and tough-looking he is. Whereas with, well, me when I was younger, it's easier to tell. I played with dolls, and…oh, gosh…proposed to my best friend when we were seven."

"Really?"

"Well, I guess I didn't really _propose_, per say. I just told him that I wanted to marry him when we were older."

"Aw, that's cute. Well…what d'you think _I _should do?"

John smiled slyly. "I happen to have a friend who's also expressed his curiosity to me. He's a nurse in the Medical Pavilion. He told me I'm one of his mentors and heroes, and he spilled everything. I didn't tell him about myself, though. Would you like to maybe get to know him?"

"Wait…he's probably a young gun, isn't he? I'm probably old enough to be his dad."

"He's twenty…two? No, three. Twenty-three."

Snub frowned. "That's quite bit younger than me. You sure he'd be comfortable?"

"All he can say is 'no'."

"…Yeah…yeah, that sounds alright. Maybe the next time you and Ralph go out and we could, you know, do a double-date or somethin'."

"Sounds perfect, Snub."

"…Now I know why Big Ralphie likes you so much."

"Am I a hot topic?"

"He never shuts up about you. It's always 'Steinman this' and 'John that': 'Steinman's got the best body', 'Steinman made me the best dinner last night', 'Steinman's got great tasting come'."

John's face went red at the praise. He had no idea Ralph talked about him so much, much less showered him with compliments every time he was brought up. He was very complimentary when they were together, but, he was all but ignorant to his social life.

"I have to pretend like I don't wanna listen just so's I don't get jealous," the worker admitted.

"Oh, so Ralph doesn't know that you're curious?"

Snub shook his head. "Nah."

"I think you should tell him. It's not like he won't understand."

"Maybe. Maybe in a little while."

The door slid open and Barsetti exited. "Hey, pudding cup. You two behavin'?"

"We've been slightly 'haved," Snub chuckled, winking at Steinman. "Where you been, Ralph?"

"Puttin' some stuff away. Get your plants all done, Johnny?"

"I did."

Snub sighed. "Well, I guess I'll leave you two lovebirds on your own. I'm sure you want me outta your hair."

"Alright, then. See ya later, Snub! Thanks again for comin' over. You wanna get that drink later? After your uh, job?"

"…Sure. You know how to get a hold of me. Take care, boys. And uh…thanks, Steinman."

The doctor nodded. "I'll let you know."

Snub smiled wanly, grabbing his holster and exiting through the front door.

"Let him know what?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing. Come here! I want to show you the little project I undertook yesterday," he said, taking both of Barsetti's hands and pulling him towards their room. Once inside, he opened two drawers in his dresser and pulled back the door of his closet.

"I cleared out space in my dresser for your things. Both of these drawers are yours, now."

"Sounds good," agreed the worker.

"And, look, I moved some of my clothes into the other closet. You can hang a few things right here. Oh, and look! I got new towels the other day…see? I had your initials embroidered on this one. Now you've got your very own."

"…John…this is great—"

"Wait! I'm not done…" he rifled through the closet, pulling a garment bag out. Pulling it off, Ralph was struck dumb at what was underneath.

"I figured that since putting money in a gift wallet is good luck, perhaps new clothes will do the same for a new closet." John held up a large suit, one that was much too big for him. It was obviously intended for Ralph. "Well, don't be shy! Come try it on."

Barsetti reluctantly accepted the hanger.

"You can strip in here. I won't watch," the surgeon said with a wink.

"On the contrary, I'd prefer if you did."

In no time, the muscular worker was dressed in his Sunday best. John had purchased for him a light brown suit and two button-ups, white and black.

"I thought it didn't look quite so formal, because I know you're not keen on dressing up, but you can still get into first-class establishments. Also, it accentuates you're pretty blue eyes."

"Think so?"

The doctor nodded, staring lustfully at him.

"No wonder why you asked for my measurements the other day."

"And now you know."

"John…this is—this is…how much did you spend on this?"

"It's not important. You can take it off now. Let's save it for a special occasion."

Ralph chided him as he stripped. "Well, you're gonna let me reimburse you, right?"

"Wrong."

"Fine. We'll go fifty-fifty."

"No we won't."

"…Sixty-forty?"

"Nope."

"Well, then let me pay your rent every other month."

"I don't think so."

"…A percentage?"

"Highly unlikely," the surgeon said, carefully hanging the garments handed to him on the hanger.

"You're killin' me, man. Let me do somethin', _anything_."

John looked thoughtful, tapping his chin. "…Alright."

The dockhand grinned.

"You can say 'I love you, Dr. Steinman' and kiss me on the cheek."

Ralph, leaving his trousers open, wrapped his arms around his lover, pulling him into a constricting hug. He pressed his lips against John's roughly, pushing his tongue against his. He ground his genitals against his lover's with a grunt.

"I love you, Dr. John Sebastian Steinman!" he whispered harshly. With that, he set him back on the floor, laughing as he buttoned his pants. Steinman fixed his askew eyeglasses, shaking himself back into reality.

"…Hm…what a thank you."

"There's more where that came from to-night, babe. Just you wait." Once he was decent, he took his lover into his arms once more. "But seriously, though. Thank you, thank you so much, John. For everything. The suit, the space, everything. I really can't thank you with just words. It's not enough."

Steinman smiled up at his lover. He took one of his hands, placing it on his cheek. Ralph began stroking it tenderly.

"Maybe not…but this sure helps."

They leaned in, sharing another, less violent, kiss. When they broke, John wore a look of concern as he studied Ralph's face.

"Ralph? What's the matter?"

"Nothin'…nothin', man."

"Are you…crying?"

The worker chuckled, wiping two steady streams of tears from his eyes. "I guess I can't fight it now. Yeah…I am."

"Oh, why, love?"

"…This is just so wonderful. My whole life, I never thought I'd have any of this. No job, no money, no place to stay…no one to love me. You're the single greatest thing that's ever happened to me, John Steinman. There must be a god, because he's brought you to me."

"Ralphie…" the surgeon smiled, holding out his arms. The big worker sobbed into his shoulder as he bent down to hug him.

"This is new. I've never been to a theatre before," Ralph said, tucking his shirt into his slacks.

"Really?" Dr. Steinman said, tying his bow tie.

"I could never afford tickets to anything back home."

"Well, this'll be a good experience for you, then."

"Sorry I don't have a tux or nothin'."

"It's alright. We'll still get into the box. Sander and Ryan both have private boxes and they'll both be attending."

"Ugh…these are gettin' a bit tight," Barsetti groaned, struggling to button his pants.

"They need to be let out already?"

"Shoot yeah! I mean, especially after last night…"

"I'll drop them off at the tailor to-morrow, then."

"Who are we seein' again?"

"A singer named Grace Holloway. She's singing with the Rapture City Orchestra."

"What does she sing like?"

"I do believe she was a jazz singer. She used to only appear—" he tilted his head, thoroughly examining his hair and smoothing out his moustache. "—At, you know, small restaurants and clubs around Apollo Square. Recently, she's gotten a bit more attention. Personally, I would never _pay_ to see a coloured person that hasn't been established long, especially one that was critical of Andrew Ryan, however, my connection with Cohen helps."

"I don't see why you wouldn't. As long as they're good at what they do," Ralph challenged lightly, buttoning his sport coat.

"Ralph…" Steinman turned to him, a snide smile on his face. "I think it's easy to see who's at the top of the chain and who's at the bottom. And not just in Rapture, but on the surface as well."

"…So you're saying that you don't like coloured people?"

"I didn't say anything of the sort. I love the Ink Spots, Cab Calloway, Ella Fitzgerald, and Louis Armstrong to pieces. I just think they're…underneath, people like us. Haven't you ever been on a train or gone into the kitchen of a restaurant? Haven't you ever been on city streets?"

"I worked in restaurants for two years…in the kitchens. I met some good people who happened to be coloured, there and in prison. And I _lived_ on city streets, for years."

"Then you know exactly what I'm talking about."

"No, John. That's not what—" Ralph growled, gripping his hair. "You don't get it, do you?"

"No, I think _you're_ the one who's confused. Look. It's very clear that we're not going to change each other's minds, so why don't we just finish getting ready, alright?"

"…Fine." Ralph dug his fingers into his pomade jar, slicking back his locks. He focused on his reflection in the mirror while John fussed with his hair.

They didn't speak the whole time they finished getting ready.

Things were a bit easier in the bathysphere to the theatre. Ralph reached out, holding one of his lover's hands gently.

"…I still love you, John."

"…I never stopped loving you, Ralph," replied his lover. Barsetti smiled, nuzzling him. _Even though you're wrong_, they both thought.

"Steinman, you made it!" Cohen said jovially. "I beg your pardon for him. Ryan couldn't make it. He told me he had a special meeting over at Hephaestus. He suggested we get together to-morrow, though."

"Sounds fine, Sander."

The artist took a bit more than a glance at Ralph. "Ooh…and you brought your muscle with you."

"Of course. I never leave home without him," John said, linking arms with his partner.

"Well, if you'll both follow me, they're about to begin."

Steinman went in tow, Ralph looked somewhat reluctant. He remembered the last time spent with the artist vividly. Cohen's private box had only two rows of seats, very secluded from the rest of the populace. It was darker as well.

"Would either of you gentlemen care for a glass of champagne?"

"I'd love one, Sander, thank you!" John said. "Ralph?"

"Well, sure. Thanks."

Cohen poured the champagne and handed it off.

"Wow. I've never been given the royal treatment before," Ralph whispered to John.

"Get used to it, Ralphie. Enjoy," replied Steinman, clinking his glass against his. Sander settled down at the worker's left.

"Er, Sander? I thought you were going to sit by me?"

"But I want to sit by Ralph, Doctor. I see you far more."

"Well, why don't you sit between us—"

"I wanna sit by you, John," Ralph stated flatly.

"Well, then I guess we're just going to have to stay put," concluded Cohen. Ralph winced. John turned to strike up a conversation with his lover, but he never got a chance. The Italian leaned down, kissing him roughly on the lips.

Sander watched closely. _Good try, but it's only making me more aroused_, he thought to himself.

"Oh…okay, then," giggled John. "It's dark up here, Ralphie. Now we can kiss all we want."

"Amen to that."

The rest of the theatre dimmed and the singer stepped out onto the stage. The trio applauded with the rest of the audience.

After two songs, the big worker felt a hand on his knee. He smiled, just assuming it was John. Looking to his left…he remembered Cohen was there. He was watching the orchestra, however, his hand was watching otherwise. Ralph hissed, trying to get his attention. Sander grinned cheekily at him. Barsetti nodded at the hand, sternly. The artist moved it even closer, spread on his inner thigh.

"I won't tell if you won't."

"Get off."

Sander removed his hand with a shrug. "More champagne, Mr. Barsetti?"

"…Fine."

Cohen promptly refilled his glass. "What do you think?"

"Of—?"

"The champagne?"

"I guess it's alright. I never really had it before."

"Oh, really?"

Ralph grunted, turning his attention back to the stage.

"Do you like music at all, Ralph?"

"I like this kind of music, yeah."

"You know, I just made a record a month or so back. In this vein—"

"I thought you weren't supposed to talk during performances…"

"Please! What's a Rapture musical performance without a running commentary by Sander Cohen? Besides, I own this theatre. I own Fort Frolic."

"Congrats."

Cohen smirked, watching the stage.

An intermission came in just under an hour.

"I'm going to run to the restroom. Ralph? Do you need to?" John asked.

"Sure, I'll empty a leg."

"I would be surprised if you didn't. You've sure taken a liking to the champagne."

"It's not bad. The first glass didn't do much for me, but it's been gettin' better."

Cohen listened carefully to their conversation as they stepped out of the box.

Ralph returned by himself after a few minutes.

"Oh? Where's the good doctor? You didn't lose him, did you?" the artist questioned.

"Nah, he ran into a friend of his on the way back and he stopped to talk."

"Ah, so we're alone again?"

"Mm."

"…Would you like me to open another bottle? You've certainly drained the last one."

"Stuff's not bad. Sure, why not."

Sander topped him off as much as he could, knowing Ralph would finish the whole thing at any cost. He'd watched him eat at Steinman's and knew, as someone who suffered during the Great Depression and being from a lower-working-class family, he finished everything placed in front of him down to the very last bit. Ralph downed the glass in only two gulps.

"Do you like going to the theatre, Ralph?"

"Yeah, it's alright. I like singin' and music more than actin' and stuff. How 'bout you?"

"Oh, I do it all. I don't like to limit myself to one art form. I'm an actor, composer, playwright, and sculptor, mainly, but I dabble here and there."

"Sheesh, I don't know anythin' about art. You do all that and John's a surgeon, I feel pretty strange hangin' out with you guys."

"There, there, don't fret, my dear." Sander touched his leg once more. "John likes your company, and er…so do I."

By now, Steinman had returned. Cohen removed his hand as soon as the surgeon slid by, but he wasn't quite fast enough. Steinman's face went red as he stared at them both.

"Having fun, you two?" he grilled, tugging on his suit, as he usually did when nervous or angry.

"Back so soon, John?"

Without another word, the doctor sat down, threading his arm through Ralph's and leaning his head on his shoulder. Barsetti kissed him, squeezing his arm tighter to his body. Steinman looked back to Cohen; the artist grinned slyly at him, turning back to the singer and the orchestra, who had started up once more.

After that incident, Dr. Steinman kept a close eye on his lover for the rest of the evening. He frequently looked down at Ralph's lap to see if Cohen had made any more moves. So far, there had been none. The singer had begun the final song of the night, which she explained thoroughly beforehand. It was a slow, emotional song about growing up in a poor neighbourhood and having close to nothing except the love of her family. He immediately thought of Ralph. He looked up at his lover. Barsetti fidgeted like a mad-man. His attention was completely focused on the singer. As Steinman looked closer…he noticed a few tears escaping the big worker's eyes. He gently took one of his huge hands in his.

"Ralph? Is everything okay?"

"I need some air…" he croaked, hurrying out of the box.

"…What was that all about?" Sander enquired with a shrug. John ignored him as he decided to follow his partner. He found him seated on a bench at the end of the staircase, his face buried in one of his hands. Steinman approached cautiously.

"Ralphie? What's the matter?"

He took a moment before answering, showing blue, tear-stained eyes to his lover.

"…She's so right. About everything. Her story is my story. I didn't have nothin' but my family growin' up. I just…" he covered his face as a new wash of tears overtook his eyes. Steinman pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, offering it.

"I'm sure a lot of people feel the same as you, Ralph. Ms. Holloway is well-liked in Rapture, especially among people in Apollo Square. I'm sure there are people in the audience that started out with nothing as well."

A young usher came around the corner, preparing for the herds of people who would soon be flocking out of the theatre. He stopped in his tracks, watching Steinman and Barsetti. The latter bared his teeth, jumping up.

"What're you lookin' at?! Don't judge me!"

The usher quickly back-tracked the way he came, scared out of his mind.

"Ralph! Don't snap at people," the surgeon said, taking his arm, stroking one of his biceps.

"I don't want anyone to see me like this."

"There's nothing wrong with crying, Ralph. I thought we went over this? Frankly, I'm proud of you. I'm proud that you're showing emotion instead of keeping it bottled-up inside. I really respect men who cry."

"…It was so long ago, but…it's still so hard. It still hurts. It'll probably always hurt…"

"I can only imagine. I'm sure it does." John hugged his lover around the neck. "Here, why don't we leave a little early? I'll go tell Sander. Wait right here."

"Is everything alright? They're just about through," Cohen said as Steinman entered.

"Everything's fine, but Ralph and I are going to leave a bit early. This final song's tugging on his heartstrings a bit."

"Ah. Here, I'll see you both out," he offered, rising from his seat.

"No." Steinman held out one hand, pushing against Cohen's chest as he made to follow. "…We'll see ourselves out, thank you. Thank you for the invite and for the performance." With that, he turned, stalking from the box.

"…Well!" Cohen said, his back to the applauding audience.

Ralph remained quiet throughout most of the ride in the bathysphere. He sniffled loudly, occasionally wiping his eyes as he thought about his past.

"I'm er…sorry, I took you, Ralph."

Barsetti looked up.

"If I had known this was going to upset you so, I wouldn't have offered. Good thing it was free, eh?"

"…No…I-I'm glad we went, John. I think she had a beautiful voice and the band was good. The champagne was alright, too. I've never been treated so fancy. It was a good change. I'm sorry about all the waterworks," he apologised, grinding his palm into an eye to banish his tears.

"Don't apologise, Ralph. I understand. I can't really sympathise, but I understand how your memories might be difficult." He touched his lover's knee, smiling kindly at him.

The dockhand smiled back, wiping the last few tears away. "…Thanks, babe. I love you."

"I love you, too. And when we get home, you can tell me why Sander had his hand on your knee for most of the night."

Ralph's face went red. "…Um, about that…"

"Good evening, Mr. Ryan! How are you? …Ah, yes. Busy at the office, eh? …I can sympathise. Things have been chaotic at the Aesthetic Ideals, as well. Though I'm sure you've far more work. Well, the reason I called is I was wondering if perhaps you'd like to stop by for a small get-together? Seeing as you couldn't make the concert last night. Hm? You could stop and pick up Sander?…Yes, that sounds like an absolutely _wonderful_ idea. Yes, Ralph's here too…yes, I have raspberry crème liqueur. I also picked up something new on the way home to-day…apple pie liqueur! No, I've never heard of it until the man behind the counter suggested it to me. Sounds delightful though. You'll come? Excellent! I'll be here! Alright, good-bye."

"Raspberry crème and apple pie?" Ralph chuckled, folding his arms over his chest.

"Yes, I certainly saw you perk up when I said that. Just a little something I picked up to-day. I figured after the week I've had, I deserved something a little special," Steinman answered, collapsing on the sofa next to the worker. Ralph placed an arm around him.

"So, Ryan's pickin' up Cohen?"

"Yes, though now that you mention it, I wish I had said something in protest."

"…How long does it usually take for Ryan to get to his place and then here?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'd ballpark about…twenty minutes? Perhaps thirty, though. Sander takes longer than a woman to get ready for anything."

"…Thirty minutes," Ralph repeated, looking over to the hallway. "Thirty minutes…" He shrugged. "I only need about eight or nine."

Steinman rolled his eyes, chuckling.

Andrew Ryan knocked on the door to Steinman's apartment.

"Are we sure he's even home?" Cohen asked.

"Of course he's home. He invited us, didn't he?"

"True, but John is…well…a bit preoccupied these days."

"Oh, right…the stevedore."

"I must admit, though. He _is_ attractive."

Ryan knocked again.

"This would be so typical of him to invite us over and not even be present!"

"He's home, Sander, his door is open," Ryan retorted, turning the knob. They let themselves inside. The pair looked around curiously for a few moments, until Cohen stopped dead in his tracks.

"Andrew…do you hear what I hear?"

"I don't hear anything."

"…Sounds like—" The artist shot him a mischievous glance. Cohen pressed his ear to Steinman's door, listening carefully.

"Naughty, naughty…" he laughed.

"If it's anything like that, I'll wait here," stated Ryan, sitting down on the sofa.

The artist slowly pushed the door open. His assumption proved correct…

Steinman was laid flat on his bed, the big dockworker mounted over him. They grunted and groaned with his movements, a steady stream of dirty-talk coming from the worker. The surgeon's moans became louder; they were both half-clothed and sweating profusely. Ralph picked up his pace for a few seconds, ceasing as he groaned loudly. Steinman moaned, flinching lightly. They both panted, Ralph still inside his lover.

"Oh wow…oh, god…" panted John.

"…Good one?"

Just as the surgeon was about to answer…his eyes fixed on the door…and the awaiting Sander. John yelled in both surprise and anger, pulling out and holding Ralph's undershirt over his groin.

"What are you doing here?!" demanded the surgeon.

"Er…you invited us over?"

"No, I mean, what are you doing in my room?!"

"Watching you get railed by a burly dockhand. Having a quickie before company, eh?" Cohen taunted playfully.

"Yeah. What'd you think?" Ralph said, looking pleased with himself.

"If I didn't already have four to contend with…"

"Yeah? You want big Ralphie, Mr. Cohen?" the worker teased, pinching one of his nipples.

"Stop it, you!" he giggled uproariously.

"That's it! Ralph, stop it. Sander…I think perhaps it's best if we just do this some other night. Is Ryan with you?"

"Well, we're already here, and we already know about your lover, why don't we just forget the whole thing?" Sander suggested. "And yes. He's not a voyeur. He's in the den."

"I don't think so," John said, pulling his pants on.

"Oh, come now, Steinman, don't be such a—"

"Ralph? Will you see them out?"

The big man cracked his knuckles, rounding on the pair. Cohen immediately hurried for the door. Making sure he had left, he found Ryan on the sofa. He wasn't as easy, staring up at the towering brute somewhat accusingly.

"Steinman don't wanna see anyone to-night."

"He invited us over."

"He changed his mind."

Ryan stood, leering at the stevedore.

"Want me to show you the door…Mr. Ryan?"

"I do not. Very fine of you," he sneered, exiting through the hallway. Ralph ran a hand through his hair, heading back down the hall.

"…They're gone, pudding cup…John?" Barsetti said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to him. John sat, his face buried in his hands.

"Oh, Ralph, I'm so embarrassed! I can't believe they walked-in on us!"

"Why you so embarrassed, Johnny? It's not like they haven't seen it…or done it…before."

"Well, I know that, but…they haven't seen _me_ doing it before. I think sex is a very private thing. I don't want people to watch me when I'm with my partner."

"I guess that makes sense," shrugged Ralph. He wrapped an arm around Steinman, hugging him close. "…But it was a good one, though, wasn't it?"

"It was incredible."

"Okay. That's all that matters to me. That you're satisfied."

"…Don't ever worry about that, Ralph."

"You know…I thought it was kinda sexy…them watchin' us and all."

"…You did?" Steinman asked, allowing Ralph to tousle his unkempt hair.

"Yeah. I've always liked havin' other guys watch me. Not a bunch, just one or two, just to show 'em who's king of the jungle."

"Well, I like our time together, as a couple, in private. Where we can show how much we love each other."

"I guess I understand that," Ralph said, lowering down to the mattress, propping himself up on one elbow. "So…you want another round? I'm buyin'."

John laughed, wiping sweat from his brow as he lay down on his side of the bed. "Oh, gods! I don't know…"

"C'mon! It's early! Don't tell me you're tired _already_."

"…And you're sure they left?"

"I saw 'em myself. We're alone."

"You're positive?"

"Johnny, c'mon. You think anyone wants to hang around with big, bad Ralphie on patrol?"

"Well…no. I guess not." He slipped his pants off in one fluid motion, resuming his position on the bed.

"Ooh, before we bump and grind, mind if I have a cig first?"

Steinman grinned mischievously. "…Be my guest."

"Oh…thanks?" Ralph smiled, raising an eyebrow. Normally, John wouldn't even cuddle with him after he'd had a cigarette. He liked the leniency that came with his ecstasy. "Be right back. Save some of that juice for me," he chuckled, pulling a flannel shirt on his shoulders. He lumbered out of the room, whistling as he headed towards the pantry, where he kept his cartons of cigarettes. Steinman continued grinning, locking his hands behind his head. Moments later, Ralph appeared at the door, looking a bit frantic.

"Uh, hey, uh, Johnny? You seen my cigs anywhere?"

"Cigarettes?"

"Yeah, I uh, I had them in the pantry and now they're gone. I just bought some a few days ago."

"Maybe you smoked them all?"

"Impossible! I don't smoke that much in only two days."

Steinman shrugged flamboyantly. "Well, I don't know where they are. _I_ don't use them."

Ralph dug through all of the pockets of his trousers, his leather jacket, and his bed-side table, coming up empty-handed every time. Meanwhile, John got comfortable on the bed, humming the song "I'll Never Smile Again" as he laid one wrist across his eyes. He chanced a peek at his lover, still wearing the same cheeky smile. Ralph finally put two and two together. Narrowing his blue eyes, he jumped on the bed, pinning his partner.

"Alright…what'd ya do with 'em?"

"What'd I do with what?"

"Don't play dumb with me, John! You took my cigs, didn't ya?"

"I'm afraid I haven't a clue what you're talking about—"

"John, please! I need those! I-er-I…I just need 'em okay? Tell me where they are, please?"

"Alright, I admit it. I tossed them all out this morning after you left for work."

Barsetti looked dumbstruck. "…You _what_?!"

"Ralph, you need to quit if you're going to live with me. Smoking is an unhealthy, vile habit."

He groaned aloud, clawing at his face. "Do you know how much those cartons cost?!"

"Exactly. Not only will you be saving your body, you'll be saving yourself a ton of money. I'll reimburse you for the carton I threw out, but you're not to buy any more, understood?"

"You ain't the boss of me! I can smoke if I wanna!"

"Oh, _really_?" Steinman said, placing heavy emphasis on his words. With that, he pulled his slacks back on, buttoning them closed. "You have a choice: smoking, or sex. Because you can't have both. I don't like kissing you, cuddling with you, I don't even like being in close proximity to you when you've been smoking. So, it's either the tobacco or me."

He swaggered out of his room, still humming the same tune. Ralph sat on the bed, speechless.

"…_What_?!" he lamented loudly.


	14. Phase 14

Phase 14-August, 1958

Olympus Heights.

Ralph stared down at the name of the complex written on the slip of paper. The one Sander Cohen had given to him. _Stop by sometime, little moth. I have one or two…jobs…I could use you for_, he had said. Ralph was wary, though. He caught the artist staring at him more than once during the get-together Steinman held and the concert they went to, when they shared his private box. He even got physical, making to touch him a number of times. He couldn't blame him, though. Barsetti knew he had fabulous musculature; who wouldn't stare at, or man-handle, a bear like him?

"Well…maybe he just wants me to move sofas or something. Artists are picky like that. Maybe he'll even pay me for it, too." Having made up his mind, he stared at the bathysphere tunnel to Steinman's, did an about-face, and headed in the opposite direction.

If he thought Steinman's joint was swanky, it was nothing compared to Olympus Heights. It was where the very elite of Rapture lived and more heavily guarded than Fort Knox. The guards were even pushier than the ones at Steinman's.

"State your business," a smaller, sturdy man said immediately upon his entrance.

"I'm here to see Sander Cohen, you know, the artist?"

Both guards tried to contain their laughter. Their words dripped with sarcasm. "_No_, we had no _idea_ he was an _artist_."

"I always thought he was a coal miner," added his buddy.

"Whatever. Can I see him?"

"We don't just_ let_ people like you up to see people like him."

"He invited me. See?" Ralph produced the calling-card Cohen had given him. Both of the guards stared down at it, offering Barsetti narrowed glares.

"How do we know you didn't forge this?"

"Please. Do I look like someone who could make something like that? I don't have an artistic bone in my body."

The guards went into conference for a short period.

"We're going to check with Mr. Cohen, just in case."

"Psh, suit yourself," Ralph answered, rolling his eyes. He listened in on their conversation as he leaned against the wall.

"Mr. Cohen? This is Warren down with security. There's a…lower-classman…here asking for you. He says you invited him. He had one of your calling cards and everything…what's that? Oh, oh you _did_ send for him? Oh, I beg your pardon, sir! Yes, sir. I'll send him in right away. Yes, sir, good-bye, sir."

"Kiss-ass," Barsetti sneered to himself as the guard hung up the phone.

"It appears he did send for you. You may go in. His suite's on the first level, straight ahead."

"Thanks…I think," growled the dockhand, jingling some change in his pocket as he moved on into the complex.

Ralph didn't need a second opinion; he knew the place right when he saw it. His entrance door was fabulously decorated in what they called "art deco". His name shined on a polished gold plate. Shaking his head slowly, the worker knocked. The artist took his sweet time answering the door. If he hadn't known better, Ralph would have wondered whether or not he was actually home. Eventually, Cohen answered, clad in a purple silk smoking jacket and black dress pants.

"Ah, Mr. Barsetti! You've decided to accept my invitation!" he exclaimed.

"I guess," the worker answered, removing his cap as he stepped through the threshold. He was a bit stunned by the apartment. It had two levels and was much more grandiose than Steinman's. Cohen's art was displayed on every wall, or at least, he assumed it was Cohen's art. He couldn't make heads or tails of it, regardless.

"Let off a bit early from work, weren't we?"

"Yeah, surprisingly. Uh, thanks for the invite, Mr. Cohen."

"Please, please…call me Sander.

"If you insist…Sander."

The artist giggled wildly. "I do. Before we undertake all the toil, would you care for a drink, perhaps?"

"If you're offerin'."

"If you're accepting."

"…I am," smirked the worker.

"Then follow me," laughed Cohen, slinking into another room. Ralph followed him, keeping his guard up. Two other men were conversing at the bar. Because of one's accent and the other's deep voice, he couldn't tell what they were talking about.

"Oh, boys, we have company!" Cohen exclaimed loudly.

They donned looks of subtle frustration the instant they saw Ralph. The worker returned the favour. He already got bad vibes from them.

"Boys, this is Ralph Barsetti, he's a stevedore." Ralph didn't take too kindly to the introduction. "Ralph, this is Silas Cobb and Martin Finnegan, two of my disciples. I believe I've mentioned them before."

"Ain't I seen y'all somewhere before?" Cobb asked.

"I don't think so," Ralph was quick to answer.

"He's Dr. Steinman's lover. Remember? He showed us that photo last time he was here?"

"Oh…right."

"So! Pick your poison, Mr. Barsetti."

"Um, you can call me Ralph. I'll take a whiskey on the rocks."

"Silas, you heard the man," Cohen relayed, nodding towards the bar. "Will an Old Tom do?"

"Whiskey's whiskey. I ain't biased."

"Man after my own heart," the shop owner laughed as he got down from his stool, placing his cigarette on his lip as he moved around the bar. He had a characteristic swagger in his gait. Ralph could easily tell he was homosexual.

"So…what do you think of my home, eh?"

"It's er…interesting."

"Much nicer than John's, wouldn't you say?"

"I dunno. Your place is kinda busy for me. I don't know anything about decorations or art or anything." The dockhand only paid Cohen half of his attention, the rest he gave to Silas. He watched him closely, making sure he wasn't lacing his drink with anything. Everything checked out when he was finished. Once in a while, his training the in Mafia came in handy. Cobb slid the tumbler to him, taking his seat. A very tall, younger-looking man entered the room.

"Ah, here he is, Liszt himself! Ralph, this is Kyle Fitzpatrick, Kyle…Ralph Barsetti."

Kyle's eyes were immediately cast the floor when they met Ralph's. He mumbled something to Cohen, nothing of which Barsetti heard. He was dressed in a simple black blazer, a purple shirt, and black pants. The young man had one of those faces that looked perpetually sad or somewhat worried. Regardless, Ralph thought the young pianist very handsome and he took the liberty of complimenting him.

"Say, you're really cute, Kyle. And I hear you're pretty talented."

Fitzpatrick's face went a deep red, his eyes still avoiding their guest's. "…Thanks, um, Mr. Barsetti."

_He's shy_, Cohen mouthed to Ralph with a chuckle. "But isn't he, though? The moment I heard how he played, I said: this man just _has_ to come to Rapture!"

"Stop it…" Fitzpatrick said playfully. Having heard him finally speak at an audible level, Ralph didn't think his voice matched his personality; it was decently deep and somewhat quavering. The big stevedore was worried, and plagued by guilt: he was becoming more and more attracted to young Fitzpatrick. The eccentric artist gave him a tight bear-hug, which Ralph saw as amusing, given their extreme height difference.

"If you boys will excuse me for a moment, I'm to finish setting up. Come, Fitzpatrick, you can help me! You behave yourselves, now," the artist giggled, exiting the bar with the newcomer. Ralph watched him leave, turning back to the disciples. The looks on their faces didn't exactly read as welcome. Barsetti grunted softly, sipping his whiskey. He felt Cobb grab the collar of his jacket, pulling it down. He was just about to slap his arm away, but he removed it.

"Y'all got some ink?"

"I sure as hell do. I spent three years in federal prison and four in the US Navy."

"Shoot, you must be covered!"

"Damn right I am." Ralph stood up. He removed his jacket, rolling up his sleeves to expose his tattoos.

"Shit, you weren't kiddin'," Cobb remarked.

"That's not even all…" Ralph gave in, pulling his shirt off.

"How long do you think you've been under…some kind…of needle?" Finnegan enquired.

"Oh, I dunno. Days, maybe. A lot of these I got in barracks, usin' pen ink and a sewin' needle. This one I got in New York at an actual parlour, though," he said, rubbing his chest.

"That Eskimo art?" Cobb nodded towards his left arm.

"…Yeah…they are," Ralph said, a bit surprised that he could identify them. "I thought they looked neat."

"Alright, then," smiled the record store owner. He stood as well, loosening his tie. He hung his suit-coat on the back of the barstool. Unbuttoning his shirt, he pulled it off his shoulders, turning his back to Ralph. Across his shoulders was a long tattoo of the Native American Thunderbird spirit.

"Wow…that's done really well," Ralph complimented.

"Took about sixteen hours, I reckon."

"How many sessions?"

"'Bout three or four, don't remember. I got Cherokee blood, on my mama's side. I also just gotta thing for the bird motif."

"I can tell. That's nice. Much better than most of mine," Ralph nodded.

"Oh, and…I also got this." On his lower back, to the extreme left, was what the dockhand guessed was supposed to be an upside-down pink triangle outlined with a harsh black line. It looked more red than pink; he guessed this wasn't done by a professional.

"Got this when I…'moved out'," he said with a sly smile.

"Moved out?" Ralph repeated, smiling as well.

"Yep. Mama don't allow fags in her house."

"She catch you?"

"With one of the neighbour boys. I don't regret it. He was _fine_. Nobody can resist ol' Cobbsie."

"I can," commented Finnegan. Cobb gave him a disbelieving look.

"He lyin'."

The stevedore grinned, tapping the interlocking male symbols on the base of his neck.

"Heh, nice. The Nazis used pink triangles to mark off the fags in their death camps. I ain't no Jew, but I'm definitely a queen." He pulled his shirt and suit back on, cinching his tie. "Hey, Marty. Why don'tcha show Ralphie yours?"

"Eh…" Finnegan waved him off, topping his glass off.

"C'mon! Ya gotta now."

Grunting, Finnegan rolled up his sleeves. On his right bicep were some poorly drawn Celtic knots, similar to Ralph's, and on his left was an image of dog-tags and stenciled words that read "USMC Southeast Asia Campaign" along with a serial number.

"You Irish?" Ralph asked.

"_Finnegan_?" he replied, putting annoyed emphasis on his surname. "You got some too?"

"Oh, yeah. My old man was Irish. Name was McMorton," he answered, offering his left forearm. "You were a Marine?"

"From forty-one to forty-five I was. Against my will, I might add."

Sander Cohen returned upon his word. "Oh, sharing body art stories, eh?" he asked mischievously, sidling closer to the still shirtless Ralph. "Sorry I missed it."

"Yep," Silas said. "Y'all should get one, Mr. C. I'll pay for it. The first one's supposed to be bought."

"I don't think so. You won't find _me_ anywhere near a needle, unless, of course, it's offering me something useful."

"Well, guess I should be headin' out," Cobb sighed, looking down at his expensive wristwatch.

"Leaving so soon, Cobbsie?"

"Y'all got Kyle for the evenin', don'tcha?"

"Yes…but three is the magic number, you know."

"Eh, he don't like me so much, on accounta I pick on him lots."

"You're quite the bully…" Cohen said softly, pulling him closer.

"I reckon I am. Always have been. Thanks for the drinks, Maestro."

"You know you're always welcome, Cobbsie…"

Ralph watched them discreetly as he pulled his undershirt back on. They kissed aggressively for a few moments. He couldn't help but voyeur. Fitzpatrick returned, causing the pair to immediately cease all affection. He filled his mug from a coffee pot on the counter. Ralph was confused, and angry. It was apparent that Cohen kept his affairs with the other disciples a secret from the shy pianist.

"Well…thanks, Mr. Cohen," the store owner said.

"My pleasure, Cobbsie."

"See ya later, Beanpole," Cobb said, slapping Kyle's ass as he made his way to the door. Kyle frowned in response, moving out of the room.

"Are you leaving as well, Martin?"

"Yeah. I gotta callback to-morrow, 'round ten," he answered, pulling his jacket onto his shoulders.

"Can you spare a few minutes? I invited Ralph over to move a few things and I'd like for you to help him."

"…_I _usually move things for you, Sander," Finnegan pointed out, seemingly offended.

"I know, but, have you seen our friend, lately? He's worth two of you in the muscle department. Come along, I need the piano shifted a bit," the artist said, exiting to the den. Ralph caught Finnegan's glare as they followed the artist.

Luckily for them, it was the grand piano in the den. Sander stood still, studying it carefully. Fitzpatrick stood by the tall right window, sipping his coffee as he watched the city. Cohen had barely opened his mouth when the telephone rang. Sighing dramatically, he threw his arms up in despair.

"I'll be right back, gentlemen!" he exclaimed, hurrying up the stairs.

It couldn't have been more obvious which disciple Ralph wanted to start a conversation with. Given Cohen's eccentricity, who knew how long he'd be on the phone for. Barsetti sidled over to Fitzpatrick.

"Hey, Kyle."

"…Hullo."

"You look kinda somber."

Kyle shrugged. "I always look like this. I have naturally crestfallen features."

"I meant over here in the corner by yourself."

"I'm alright." He took another sip of coffee.

"So, how long you been playin' the piano for?"

"Since I was seven."

"How old are you now?"

The tall disciple hesitated for a moment. "…Twenty-eight."

"Wow! That long? Sheesh, you must be great! But you're still young stuff, though, aren't ya?" Ralph chuckled.

Fitzpatrick blushed lightly.

"You are really handsome, though. I meant what I said."

The pianist's face stayed red. "Um…I'm taken."

"So am I. I just like to give credit where credit's due. Who's your beau?"

Fitzpatrick nodded off towards his left.

"…Finnegan?" Ralph asked, voice lowered.

"No, um…" he cleared his throat, nodding upwards. Ralph looked in the same direction, hearing jovial laughter coming from Cohen's room.

"Ooh, Mr. Cohen?"

The young man tucked his head between his shoulders bashfully. "I uh, I don't want to boast or anything."

"Forget about it. You and I are in the same boat. My lover's Dr. Steinman."

Kyle's eyes widened, a small stream of coffee escaping the corner of his mouth, disrupting the drink he'd been taking from his mug. He immediately righted himself, a few drops landing on the polished wood, the rest absorbed by his black blazer.

"_Really_? You're with Dr. Steinman?"

"Yep!"

The disciple grinned stupidly. "Wow…you're lucky. He's _really_ attractive. He is one beautiful, beautiful man."

"I know. You should see him in bed…"

Kyle giggled boyishly. "Stop it. Um…you're really strong, Mr. Barsetti."

"…Call me Ralph. And thanks. I try."

"You're welcome…Ralph. Um, don't tell Mr. Cohen I told you, though. Please?"

"You're secret's safe with me, kiddo."

Sander came back downstairs looking pleased with himself. "Ask me for whatever your heart's desire to-night, boys! I'm in wonderful spirits!"

"What's the occasion?" said Finnegan, who had been lounging on one of the sofas.

"I just got a call from Mr. Ryan. He talked to one Chief Sullivaaan," he explained in a sing-song voice.

"Oh, right. That."

"Alright, playtime's over, back to work!" Cohen said, clapping his hands.

"Here, get on the other side," Martin instructed Ralph, rounding on the piano. The stevedore obeyed, taking the opposite. "What're we to do with it, Sander?"

"Hm…I want it over by one of the windows. It's in the dead centre of the two. I think I want the left window, move it to _your_ right. It has a nice view. I use the city as my muse often and I'm so _tired _of having to keep getting up while I'm creating."

"Okay then. Over to our right. You tell me when you're ready," Barsetti said, poising himself.

"Hold up! You gotta shut it first," Martin ordered angrily, closing the top of the piano. "Big idiot…"

Ralph sneered at him.

"Okay. We're good. On three…one…two…three."

The two grunted, hefting the piano a good inch or two off the ground. They shuffled it over five feet, so the bench would sit in front of the tall window.

"How's that, Mr. Cohen?" Finnegan asked. Cohen looked deep in thought. He wandered over to the window, staring outside it for a frustratingly long time.

"Hm…on second thought, I thinkI want to face the other window. It has a better view. This one doesn't show as much of the buildings. Kyle, would you vacate for a moment, dear?"

The young man quickly hurried away from the window.

"You, move to your left a couple feet," the actor ordered the dockhand.

"Who died and made you foreman?"

"I'm the one who usually does this, stevedore, you're—"

"Boys, boys! Is this any way for gentlemen to act?" Sander interrupted, ending their quarrel. "I asked you nicely to do a favour. Won't you?" Cohen settled down on one of the sofas, getting comfortable. Kyle chose a seat beside him. The two men hefted the instrument up once more. They hadn't gone three feet when Cohen jumped up.

"Wait, wait, wait! Hold everything. I changed my mind. I want it back where you had it. Sorry, sorry."

Finnegan groaned with annoyance, Ralph frowning. They placed it back where it was, and they planned for it to stay there, whether Cohen ultimately liked it or not.

"Lovely view, isn't it, young Fitzpatrick?"

"Yeah, you can see a lot of the city from your apartment."

"I was talking about our muscle-bound friends. You're so precious…" he giggled, patting one of Kyle's hands. He rose in the next instant. "Perfect! Perfect, thank you, boys."

"Mind if I leave now?" Martin said, looking to the clock on the wall.

"Yes, you're free, Martin. Thank you for your help."

"Thanks, Sander."

The actor took his leave, but not before pinching Cohen, who squealed and giggled like a giddy schoolgirl.

"Ah, Martin's so stoic…but he can be fun if you catch him in the right mood." He pulled a fancy, automatic cigarette dispenser from his jacket. "I apologise, I forgot to ask earlier. Care for a puff, Mr. Barsetti?"

Ralph desperately wanted one, but he knew how in Dutch he'd be if John found out. "Eh…no thanks, Mr. Cohen. I'm tryin' to quit."

"Oh, I beg your pardon." He quickly put it away. "Now, then, if you don't mind, I need you upstairs, next, Mr. Barsetti," Sander said.

"Um, sure…"

The second level of Cohen's apartment, his personal quarters, made Ralph very uncomfortable. A series of oddly coloured rabbit masquerade masks covered the walls, surrounding a large bed draped in purple sheets. In the far left corner, another purple sheet was hung where a wall and a window met. A chair, a stool, and a short chest were placed strategically underneath it.

"Well! Are we ready now?"

"Ready for what? I just moved your piano. And what is all this?"

"As you can probably tell, that's not the main reason I invited you over here…"

"…_What_?" Ralph stated, placing his hands on his hips.

"I'll come clean. You have such a wonderfully toned body, such firm, chiseled muscles, and a rugged face—"

"I hope you're not talkin' about _me_…" Ralph muttered, patting his stomach.

"I was only hoping you would allow me to use you as a nude model. I'd love to capture you in charcoal or oils and eventually in a sculpture."

Barsetti stared blankly at him, registering his request. "…So lemme get this straight. You want me to strip naked so you can draw me?"

"All artists have done it. It's basic academics and something of a tradition. How do you suppose the artists of antiquity or even earlier got their start?"

"…What's this gotta do with antiques? You callin' me old?"

Cohen burst out laughing. "You are _adorable_, Ralph Barsetti! I wish I had seen you first…"

"I dunno how John would feel about this."

"Please! You make it sound like you're taking me to bed! All you have to do is model in that corner there. I'll be back here. Unless, of course…you're shy?"

"I ain't shy," Barsetti retorted.

"So you will?"

Ralph narrowed his eyes slightly. "What's in it for me?"

"I'll pay you, oh…how does two sound?"

"Dollars?"

"Thousand. Plus carrying charges for moving the piano. Pun intended."

Ralph's jaw dropped, his eyes widening. "What? You'd shell out that much for me to stand around in my birthday suit?"

"Unless you'd rather do it for free—"

"That's more than I make in a month! You got it!" Ralph immediately tore at his clothes.

"Kyle? Would you come up here, please?" Cohen called down the stairs. "And would you bring a few of my brushes?"

"What kind, sir?"

"Oil, please!"

"Which sizes?"

"Hm…" he studied the shirtless worker. "Two, four, six…and a three, please!"

Ralph stood bare-chested, running one hand through his black hair. Fitzpatrick sidled up the staircase, paintbrushes in his hand, entranced by the shirtless worker upon first glance. His face went red once more. Sander wrapped one arm around his waist as he came to him.

"Thank you, dear. Oh, Mr. Barsetti? You don't mind if young Fitzpatrick watches, do you? He is, after all, learning. As one of my disciples…"

Ralph shrugged his great shoulders. "I don't care. 'The more the merrier', as they say."

"Um, I don't—" Kyle began to protest.

"Excellent!"

Ralph watched as the artist muttered something to his "disciple", kissed him on the forehead as the tall pianist bent down, and shooed him away. The younger lad got comfortable on Cohen's large bed, taking up whatever he had been knitting. He did his best to keep his eyes off of the model.

"Kyle knits. Crochets as well. He made that blanket at the foot of my bed. Isn't he adorably domestic?"

"That's cute," agreed the worker. "Okay, um…so what you want me to do?"

"Hm…I'll have a better idea once you've lost the trousers."

Shrugging again, Ralph slid his hands under the waistband and pushed down his pants and undergarments. Both Cohen and Fitzpatrick stared at him with an almost animalistic hunger. Try as he may, Ralph saw the knitting needles work more and more slowly. The massive worker ran his hand through his hair once more, shifting his weight to one hip.

"So, uh, what happens if I…get excited? You gonna draw it?"

"Why do you ask? _Are_ you excited?"

"Well, I haven't stripped for an artist before. I haven't had someone draw me."

"My…how the artists of the world are suffering. You're a veritable Adonis, Mr. Barsetti."

"Eh, I've gained a ton of weight since I met John. He's an incredible cook. You should have got me a few months ago."

"John _is_ a wonderful cook. He's very handy around the home; he'd make a good wife."

"Yeah…he sure would," chuckled Ralph, staring off into space as he thought about his lover.

"Are you ready, Mr. Barsetti?"

"You can call me Ralph, Mr. Cohen."

"Very well. We'll both dismiss the formality."

"Gotcha."

The artist approached his model slowly; the dockhand could easily tell he was trying to hide his arousal. It could be easily seen through the dress pants he had on.

"…I think I'll have you stand for a few poses. Just so I can get a feel for the way your body moves and the way you carry yourself. Then we'll do some longer poses, so I can better define your features. Oh, I'd love to do a sculpture of you, but we haven't the time."

"You got plans?"

He chanced a look over to the bed. "…Sort of. Sculptures also take a few sessions. They're not something one should rush. I don't think you would like to pose in one place for the time it takes to finish one in a session, either."

"I'll take your word for it. I don't know much about art."

Cohen switched on a tall lamp. It was intensely bright, and hot. Ralph winced as soon as the light hit his eyes.

"Let me know if it gets too hot or if you're getting tired. We can take breaks," he said over his shoulder, meandering back to the easel he'd set up.

"Alrighty, then. What do ya want me to do first?"

"Hm…you wouldn't happen to be a secret contortionist, would you?"

"A what?"

"Oh, nevermind. Just stand casually for about…thirty seconds. I want to capture the way you carry yourself," he suggested, standing behind his easel.

The stevedore did as instructed, standing until Cohen called for a cease.

"Excellent! Now, I think we'll do some fifteen second gestures. You may begin…"

Ralph stood, a bit dumbstruck. "Uh…like, what do ya want?"

"Ooh, do something dynamic! I'd love to see some of those muscles taut."

"I don't…what?"

Sander sighed. "Fitzpatrick, my dear? Can I tear you away from your little project?"

"What do you need, sir?"

"Would you kindly show our friend the stevedore how to model? Give him a quick tutorial, hm?"

"Um…okay." Kyle put down his knitting supplies, gently moving around the bed.

"Tell you what. Kyle will gesture for me for a few. Once you've watched him, then you can take over, hm? Sound good?"

"Uh, sure. Works for me."

Blushing madly, the pianist took off his blazer and shirt, leaving his undershirt and pants in place.

"Er…I-I don't have take all of my clothes off…do I, sir?"

"Well, _I'd_ like that, but, you don't have to if you don't want to. Alright, begin."

Fitzpatrick immediately struck an energetic pose, Cohen working furiously behind the easel.

"Change!" he called out. Kyle instantly fell into another with graceful fluidity. It drove Ralph to wonder why he was even bothering with him when he had his disciple.

"Change!"

The young man's series of poses lastest for two whole minutes, the artist having captures kneeling, standing, and other graceful stances.

"Thank you so much, Kyle! You're a professional. Just do something similar to his and you'll be fine, Ralph."

Pulling his pants back off, Kyle spoke to him, picking up the clothing he'd shed. "Um…I-I just pick a spot on the wall and stare at it. It helps my focus."

"Oh, thanks, Kyle. That's sounds good."

"…I-I won't look at you if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Hey, I don't mind. I ain't shy."

He saw the young musician sneak a look, but instantly turn away, hurrying back to his knitting.

From there, they spent four minutes on thirty second gestures. Ralph also did a few five-minute poses for him as well. Finally, they worked their way up to twenty-minute poses, of which the artist did five. Confident with his capture of the worker's body, he had decided to begin a relatively small oil painting. Ralph had only asked for a few breaks, one due to him being distracted by Fitzpatrick, who had taken to masturbating on Cohen's bed. He'd tried to hide it, but his plans were foiled when he managed to spill his coffee, which had been set on a bedside table. "Well, looks like I'll be cleaning two spots to-night," Cohen had laughed. Fitzpatrick looked mortified by the whole matter. The artist was nearly half-way finished with his painting when he called for a cease.

"Would you like to take a longer break, Ralph?"

"You bet. My leg's fallin' asleep," he agreed, grunting as he shifted his stiff limb. The worker pulled his pants back on and his undershirt over his head. His back being turned, he hadn't noticed Cohen moving around the easel and towards his bed. He quietly slid his jacket from his shoulders…the bottoms as well. He crawled into bed, Kyle still wearing his look of fear.

"Hey, do you want-me…to…?" Ralph's voice trailed off as he turned around. He blinked, noticing both artists. Sander was warming up to the younger man, the latter trying to talk his way out. Barsetti didn't know whether to be aroused or offended.

"…Oh! Pardon us, Ralph. I'm just taking a break. You can look at the drawings, if you'd like. Don't touch the painting, though. It's still wet."

Barsetti cautiously moved around the easel. He smiled once he saw the canvas.

"Hey! These look just like me! Wow…you've got some skill, sir."

"Well, when you've been an artist as long as I have…"

` "Wow. I bet John would love one of these. If I only had the money…" Ralph muttered to himself, studying the charcoal drawings.

"Well…it just so happens that I'm inclined to let you have one or two—"

"Really? You will?"

"Not so fast, my moth…"

The enthusiasm was lost from the worker's face.

"I'll let you have one at no charge on one condition…"

"…And what exactly would that be?"

Cohen grinned mischievously. "If you added another figure to our twosome."

"So wait…you want me in bed?"

"Well, I mainly want to watch as you punish my young disciple here. Kyle is more than willing to be your slave. The boy needs to learn and you'd be a wonderful specimen to teach him a lesson or two."

Fitzpatrick looked like he'd just seen an entire entourage of ghosts.

"You know I have a lover, right? That I'm with John Steinman?"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him. That dizzy doctor's blissfully unaware. Doesn't he think you're…working, at the moment? And technically…you are. You're doing jobs for me. He has no idea that you're over 'visiting' with us."

"Nothin' doin', pal. I already got one at home."

"I do have three others, you know. If you're not satisfied with Kyle, it's only a matter of picking up the phone."

Ralph dressed hurriedly and angrily. "I should've known that's why you wanted me over. I saw the way you were lookin' at me all night when John had you and Mr. Ryan over, how you were touchin' me when they were outside and when we were at the theatre. What, four ain't enough for ya?"

"No, four's plenty…five is a goal."

"Well, you're gonna have to find another chump. I may be just a stevedore, but I ain't thick like the rest of 'em. I love Dr. John Steinman, and I'm not about to get cozy with other guys."

"Oh. So you're just going to leave? Like that?" the artist said with surprising calm. "The painting's not finished."

"Yeah, I am. And I don't expect to come back. Too bad about your painting." With that, the burly worker tramped down the staircase, taking his leave.

"Oh…that was quicker than I had hoped," Cohen said to Fitzpatrick.

Once he was clear of the complex, Ralph leaned up against a wall. He stared down at his taut groin mournfully.

"…That was close. Too close." He sighed. "The boy would've been nice, but—" he growled loudly, gritting his teeth together and grabbing at his cap. He punched out a light on a closed newsstand as he stalked away from Olympus Heights.

"Dr. Steinman speaking—"

"Good evening, John Sebastian! It's Sander."

"And a good evening to you, too. What's new?"

"Oh, you know, this and that, that and this…listen, I was wondering if you were spending the evening with your burly dockhand."

John chuckled. "No, unfortunately. He had to work late to-night. I don't expect him home until later."

"Interesting…do you know who was just here, John?"

"Er, I'm certain I don't. Whom?"

"…Your dockhand."

Steinman sat up further on the sofa, frowning. "…What do you mean?"

"I mean that Ralph was here. He left oh…ten minutes ago, wouldn't you say, young Fitzpatrick?"

"…What was he doing over there?"

"I invited him. I needed his muscle to move a few things, and then I asked him if he would stand-in as a nude model. I did a lovely series of charcoals of him."

The surgeon's grip tightened on the phone.

"And I asked him to do a few more 'jobs' for me. Kyle's spending the night, so it was extra fun!"

John didn't offer a reply.

"Well, I'd best be off. I've got the boy for the rest of the night and I'm sure you've got one or two things to do. Just thought you'd like to know. Ta-ta, Johnny…"

He knocked softly on the door, letting himself in. Adjusting his cap, Ralph saw his lover sitting on the sofa, bent over with both of his hands dug deep through his hair.

"Johnny?" he chanced. The surgeon looked up to him slowly. His eyes were a bit red, as though he'd been crying.

"Oh…" he said, clearing his throat. "…You're home."

"…Yeah."

"How was your day at…work?"

"Sucked, as usual. The uh, boss let me off a little early, though. I uh, was over at Sander Cohen's place."

This struck a nerve. John shut his eyes tight, clenching both fists. Once he relaxed, he stared back at Ralph. "…Oh…" A pause. "…And what, exactly, were you doing over at Sander Cohen's place?"

Ralph scratched the back of his neck, as he usually did when he was nervous. "He uh, told me at the dinner a while ago that he wanted me to move some stuff, you know, because I'm so big. And then he told me he wanted me to model naked for him while he drew me. I dunno, I guess artists do that."

Steinman was becoming all the more enraged; his story checked out so far.

"…Oh…" he croaked, trying to keep in the growing cocktail of rage and sorrow. "…D-Did you do anything else?"

Ralph stared at the floor, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "…No."

"Are you sure?"

"Well…"

Steinman did all he could to keep from attacking him. He wasn't afraid, even though his partner was twice his size.

"…If I tell you somethin', will you not get mad at me?"

The last straw.

John rose from the sofa, rounding on his lover. He pulled back, backhanding the worker right across the cheek.

"You bastard!" he hollered, throwing forth all of his strength in a shove. "How could you do this to me?! And with one of my best friends! I feed you, buy you nice clothes…I let you live with me at no charge, Ralph Barsetti! I let you live with me at no charge! And this is how you repay me?! By fucking my best friend and one of his whores?! How could you?! How could you…" his voice became broken and indecipherable as he began sobbing. "You bastard! You bastard!" John cried, pounding on his lover's chest. Ralph seised him by the collar of his robe, hoisting him off the ground. It ended both his sobbing and his assault. Tears rolled silently down the surgeon's cheeks.

"Would you give me a sec, Johnny?!" he pleaded. There was remorse in his tone and his eyes as he held his lover up in front of him. "Yeah, I was at Cohen's, but nothing happened. _Nothing_! I was gonna tell ya that he _tried_ to get me in bed. He said he wanted me to fuck his 'disciple' or whatever while he watched, but I didn't do _nothing_. After I modeled for him, he told me to take five and I put most of my clothes back on. He got undressed and crawled into bed with the kid. I told him I was with you and I loved you and I wasn't about to cheat on you, then walked right out the door. And that's the gospel truth."

"…B-But he called…about a half an hour ago. He told me you did 'jobs' for him."

"I moved his piano a little bit. Then I modeled. I didn't do nothing outside of that. He let me have a drink at his bar, but, I only had one."

Ralph gently set down his lover. John wrung his hands lightly, staring off to the side.

"I'm not lyin' to ya, Johnny. I love you. And what's more…I stayed true to you." Steinman looked back up to him, his eyes moist. "…I'm not lyin', Johnny. As long as we're together, I'm not even lookin' at another guy."

The doctor collapsed into his lover's great arms, sobbing into his chest. Barsetti hugged him close, nuzzling the top of his head.

"…I-I'm so sorry, Ralph…" He reached up, gently touching the pink mark where he had struck him on the cheek. "…I'm so sorry for accusing you…and striking you."

"Well…I guess it did sound kinda suspicious. Especially since that asshole called you and made all that stuff up."

"Yeah…"

Ralph leaned down, kissing one of Steinman's wet cheeks. "I love you, baby doll. You know that. I'd never ever."

"You're sure?"

Ralph softened his blue eyes even more. "If I didn't care…would I feel this way?"

The doctor wrapped his arms around his lover's waist as tightly as he could, tears of joy washing his eyes.

"There, there, pudding cup. No more tears."

When John had composed himself, he stared listlessly up into Ralph's eyes. "….What an evening…"

"Hey," the big worker said, stroking one of his cheeks. "How 'bout I make you some tea, eh? Would you like that?"

John smiled weakly. "I would. Very much."

"I'll put the kettle on, you go get comfy in bed. I'll bring it to you," he instructed, gently tapping him on rear as he nodded towards their bedroom.

"Thank you very much, Ralph. I'm sorry…again."

"Don't worry about it. Go get cozy, I'll be right in."

"Thanks," Steinman said, accepting the mug. Ralph sat down at the foot of the bed, clasping his hands together as he bent over. He stared hard at the floor.

"Is it okay?"

"It's a little hot. I'll let it cool for a moment." John noticed his melancholy features. "…Ralph?"

The big man sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "…M-Maybe we shouldn't do this."

"Shouldn't do what?"

"You know…this livin' together sorta thing."

"Why not, Ralph?"

"Well…we seem to be fightin' all the time, now." He stared back up at John. "We never did this before."

The surgeon lowered his gaze back to his tea, holding the mug close. "…If you're unhappy, Ralph, you can move back to your apartment. I won't be angry."

"It's not that I'm unhappy! It's not that at all." Ralph got down on his knees, sidling over to John's side. "It's just…I don't wanna fight with ya, babe. I love ya. We're turnin' into an old married couple like this."

"…Aren't we?"

Ralph couldn't help but smile gently, John did so as well.

"You know…this fight wouldn't have happened if it weren't for Sander. I'll have some choice words for him when next we meet."

"…I dunno. I don't think I would've wanted that on my conscience. Even though nothing happened, I would want you to know that he tried to seduce me."

"And you're certain it didn't work?"

Ralph smiled. "I'm positive. Now, if he had _you_ in the bed…that woulda been another story."

Steinman set his mug on the bed-side table, reaching out and stroking his lover's chin. "…I love you, Ralphie."

"I love you too, Johnny."

"Well…I'm in a bed now. Care to join me?"

"You betcher ass I would."

Petunia shuffled through a stack of papers, wondering where they had come from. It seemed that her life revolved around organisation constantly: at work and at home. Sighing, she skimmed through them, making sure it wasn't anything terribly important. One document caught her eye immediately; it was stamped "From the desk of Andrew Ryan". Obviously something important. Conspicuously glancing at it, she found it was some sort of policy change regarding the administration of ADAM. Dr. Steinman would need to see this ASAP. She quickly rose from her desk, heading towards his office through the surgery wing.

"Excuse me, Dr. Steinman?" she said, pushing his door open. The office was vacant. She frowned; he must be still in the operating theatre. With a shrug and a sigh, she continued down the winding hall. Peering through the tall glass windows, she couldn't spot the elusive doctor anywhere.

"Where in the world could he be?" she said to herself, waiting as the automatic doors parted for her. Upon entering, she scanned the room with her eyes, scouting for any signs of life. The faintest movement of a large shadow caught her attention as she was making to leave. She cautiously moved towards the passage under the staircases to the theatre. Illuminated by only one desk lamp, she saw a massive back covered by a white shirt, which emphasised the black, criss-crossed suspenders. She could have sworn she heard the sounds of a couple kissing as well. Petunia smiled cheekily; it must have been Nurse Marjorie and the new boyfriend she was constantly talking about. On her way out, she stole one last look at the pair…and her eyes widened. It wasn't Marjorie at all…

…It was Dr. Steinman and the big dockworker that was always visiting, Ralph.

She always assumed he was a worker dealing with the new bathysphere tunnel and something of a handyman, seeing as Steinman had him fixing this and that around the Aesthetic Ideals often.

The surgeon was pinned in the corner, his glasses and a clean surgical gown still on, kissing the big man roughly. The surgeon laughed as the worker kissed down his cheek and neck, moving along his jawline. They both muttered something to the other and stood embracing. John wrapped his arms around his neck as he nuzzled his chest, while Ralph placed his hands on his waist. After their rest-period, they rubbed noses cutely, John giggling once more. Barsetti chuckled, whispering something in his ear. Steinman pushed his shoulder playfully, laughing. She saw the worker laugh as well, regaining a grip on his waist. He chucked his chin, moving along to his cheek. John nuzzled against the big hand, pressing it to his face. After sharing a loving smile, they held hands, making for the exit. Petunia hurried outside, not wanting to be discovered. She fixed her hair, trying to make it look like she had only just arrived. The pair exited, the doors parting for them. She caught the surgeon by surprise.

"Oh! Petunia! I'm terribly sorry! Have you been waiting long?" he asked.

"Oh, no, sir, I only just got here. Er…this is for you. It looks very important; it's from Mr. Ryan."

"Ah, yes! He told me he was going to send over the policy change. Thank you very much, Petunia!"

"…You're welcome, sir."

"I apologise for making you wait. Ralph was just, er…fixing a lamp down in the operating theatre."

"…I see. And did you get it fixed, Ralph?"

"…I did. It wasn't really broken, it just needed to be…turned on."

Steinman giggled foolishly; they were both oblivious to their recent voyeur.

"Have you taken a break yet?"

"Er, no, I haven't, sir."

"Oh, please do so! You work too hard around here. Go, go on, take twenty minutes to yourself. Please, I insist," he offered.

"But, Doctor, I've got—"

"You're taking a break or else," he almost demanded, but playfully.

"Well…as long as you insist," she said slowly, turning and departing.

The young receptionist didn't know what to think. She'd been reminded before that homosexuality was wrong and perverted, a brand of mental disorder. When she saw the two men kissing, she was revolted by it, but…Dr. Steinman was a brilliant surgeon, one of the best in the world. That's why he was invited to the city by Ryan personally. He was also a very nice person to work with and made her job more tolerable. Not to mention he was also disarmingly handsome. Ralph was…different. He worked at the docks, was big and muscular, seemed crude oftentimes, yet…he was, at heart, a true gentleman. He was never rude to the nurses or other female workers and remembered his "sirs", "ma'ams", and "misses". He even scared off a doctor for her on one occasion; he'd been making unwanted passes at her, making her very uncomfortable. He'd split as soon as Ralph appeared, rolling up his sleeves. They were nice people…just doing the wrong thing. She didn't quite know what to think.

Petunia passed by her desk, wandering towards the gardens. She wondered if the maintenance crew had remembered to feed the koi in the pond…

"Thanks for stopping by, Ralphie. I'm always glad to see you," Steinman said, shutting the door to his office.

"The pleasure's all mine, Johnny-boy," he answered with a smile. "I've never made-out with anyone in an operating room before."

"…I can't say the same…" the surgeon said cheekily, winking.

"You know what I also haven't done?"

"What's that?"

The worker grinned, slapping his hands down on John's desk. "…Had office-sex."

Steinman glanced down at the polished, red oak. Ralph carefully lifted the leather writing board from the desktop, setting it on the chair.

"…Get comfy."

"Ralph…you're not serious."

"As a heart-attack."

"I can't have sex in a public workplace! Especially one that I'm in charge of!"

"Correction…it gives you all the more reason to." Sensually, the worker moved around the surgeon, heading for the door. He locked it, testing the knob to make sure it actually was. He slid his suspenders off, unfastening the first couple buttons on his shirt. "Alright, tough-guy…" chuckled Ralph, rounding on his lover. "I'll lead."

"Ralph, we can't have sex here."

"There's a rule? Did it say in the Hippocratic Oath that you won't have sex in your office with your burly lover?" retorted Barsetti.

"It's unprofessional! I won't do it!"

"Sure you will."

"I won't let you tempt me."

Ralph was determined, though."Oh you won't, eh? We'll see about that."

"I won't be swayed so easily."

Ralph slowly raked his hands through his hair, one at a time. It loosened up the stiffened locks, a few slipping down onto his forehead. He ran his hands down his neck and his chest, stopping on his pectorals. He slid them underneath his shirt.

"…Don't even bother."

Smiling, the worker gently pinched his nipples, harder and harder until he groaned in pleasure. Steinman's face went red.

"Now Ralph…you stop it."

"…Stop what?" the worker asked innocently, sliding his hands downward. They ran over his belly, ending at the waistband of his trousers, his fingertips casually slipping underneath.

"I'm serious, Ralph. Get your hands out of your pants."

"They're not in my pants…" In one slow, fluid movement, Barsetti pushed down his trousers and undergarments.

"Yet." He nodded in response, stroking himself. "C'mon, Johnny-boy…you know you want to. I felt how horny you were in that operating room. And you told me how it arouses you…"

"…I was. And it does."

"Well then—" shrugged Ralph, taking a step closer, stroking one of the doctor's cheeks. "What're ya waitin' for?"

Steinman stared at him hard for a whole minute. He sighed irately, pulling his glasses from his nose. "Ralph…"

The big man looked let-down, lowering his head lightly. Suddenly, Steinman forced himself up against his lover. Gripping a handful of his black hair, he pressed his lips against Ralph's.

"…I had to take my glasses off."

Barsetti chuckled heartily, in something of a daze. "…I knew you couldn't resist, pudding cup."

Steinman pulled up his gown, pulling down his slacks. He bent over his desk, offering himself to the dockworker. "We need to be quiet, though. These walls aren't made of stone. No grunting, no groaning."

"You got it, Johnny-boy." Before he began his work, he frowned. "Uh, I ain't got nothin' to grease you up with."

"I like to think I can handle you without any lubrication, now," the surgeon remarked victoriously over his shoulder.

"I'd still feel better if we had some…"

John rose from the desk, sliding his pants back up. "…Then I'll go find some." As he left the office, Ralph got comfortable in his chair, clenching and unclenching his fists.

The surgeon roamed the halls frantically, eagerly. He was glad he still had his gown on; it wasn't so easy to tell he was aroused. After minutes of searching he came upon his friend Grossman muttering bitterly to himself.

"Grossman! Excellent, I have something to ask you."

"Oh? What do you need, Dr. Steinman?"

"I'm looking for, er…" He crooked his head, staring at the physician's left hand. He was gripping an unmarked jar of petroleum jelly.

"What?"

Steinman limply pointed to the jar. Grossman sneered, his face reddening out of embarrassment.

"…Someone just had a physical. At least he wasn't sick; those are the worst. They're always sneezing everywhere!"

"Er, how lucky for you. M-May I just borrow this for a moment?" Without waiting for a reply, he snatched it from his hand and tore back down the hallway he had come from.

"Wha-I-W-What's going on here?!"

"I'll bring it back! Don't worry!"

"I didn't enjoy it! Don't judge me!" Grossman called out. "_You_ try jamming your hand up to the elbow inside someone's rear end!" Turning, he straightened up as he saw a passing nurse favouring him with a wide-eyed, terrified stare.

"Erm, uh, t-that's not what I meant!"

The nurse moved on. Quickly.

"…I'm a god-damn _doctor_!" he pleaded.

"Hey! That was quick!"

"Lucky, too! I passed by a physician friend of mine. He just had the privilege of giving a man his yearly physical."

"From the looks of it, we're about to do the same thing…"

"You bet…" Steinman enticed, pulling down his pants once more.

Dr. Grossman allowed himself into the surgical theatre, searching for the plastic surgeon and his pilfered jar of petroleum jelly.

"Dr. Steinman! Dr. Steinman, I need that back! Hello?" He paused for a moment. "Are you in here?" The surgeon didn't make himself known. "Blighter must be in his office, then."

Across the hall, he noticed Steinman's door was shut. Strange, seeing as he usually kept it open just the tiniest crack, in case a nurse or client showed up. He took the knob, jarring it lightly. On top of that, it was locked.

"Eh, uppity case." Before turning away, Grossman became aware of very faint…noises…coming from behind the door. "Eh?" Bending down, he pressed an ear to the lock. "…No…" The physician squatted down. "Ugh…" he growled, having trouble deciding whether or not he wanted to press his face to the filthy, germ-laced keyhole. Making up his mind, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping it down thoroughly. Positioning himself right, he peered through. He could only see a portion of the occupants…but it was all he needed. His mouth hung open, eyes blinking several times.

"Oh—my—god!" Repulsed, he pushed away from the door. "Ugh, egh, who gets pleasure out of that?! Think of how—how _unsanitary_ it is! It's not natural!" The more Grossman pondered on what he had witnessed, a solid plot began forming in his head. He grinned conspiratorially to himself. "…Perfect. Wait until the head of surgery hears of _this_! Our beloved surgeon needs to be knocked-down a few pegs; this is the perfect thing."

Ralph sat collapsed in a chair, panting heavily. Steinman was sprawled out on top of his desk, mopping sweat from his brow.

"…How was that one, cookie?"

"I don't know about you…but I think that was one of the best orgasms I've ever had."

"Yeah? Feel alright?"

"Ralph…if only you could know!"

"I think I have an idea…" he replied softly, rubbing his groin through his pants.

"And I was in my surgical uniform…" Steinman groaned sensually. "Incredible…"

"Oh yeah! You got to finally live out out that fetish of yours," agreed Ralph.

"Mm, I most certainly did."

"Sorry I didn't have one on. I shoulda asked ya."

"Oh, no, don't worry about it. You were fine." The surgeon sat up, buttoning his pants. "I'm tempted to take the rest of the day off!"

"Go for it. We could, uh…continue this back at our place."

Steinman chuckled. "I never thought I'd ever have sex in the workplace…now I'm glad I did."

Ralph stood up, stretching his muscular arms. With a loud groan, he took a step closer to his lover, taking his hand as he slid off the desk. They held each other close, kissing lightly.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to kick you out, Ralphie-boy."

"Aw, really?"

"Don't whine. I just surrendered to you in my own office! During working hours!"

"Guess you gotta point. And I'm grateful for it, don't you forget that."

Steinman wiped leftover sweat from his brow as Ralph reassembled his work clothes. The surgeon sidled up to his lover by the door, taking one of his big hands softly, smiling up at him.

"Thanks for a good load, Ralphie."

"You've been hangin' 'round me too much. You're startin' to sound like me."

Steinman reached up, planting a kiss on his nose. "I love you, you big oaf."

"I love you, too, Doc. You sure you don't want me to stick around?"

"I don't exactly know what I'd have you do."

"…Insurance." Ralph punched one fist into an open palm. "You know, if anyone gives you any trouble. I kicked that guy out last time."

"I don't think so, tough guy."

Barsetti shrugged. "If you insist."

"Here…I'll see you out."

As soon as Steinman opened the door, Dr. Grossman scuttled away. He hid in the entrance to the operating theatre, watching the pair closely as they emerged.

"Thanks again for stopping by, honeybear."

"Thanks for um…'havin' me', pudding cup."

"…My 'pleasure'."

"Okay. We need to stop."

_Pet names _and_ holding hands? …I was right_, thought Grossman.

"One more?" chanced Ralph.

"I don't know…I usually like to save those for my office, or the operating theatre if it's empty."

"C'mon…just one? Tide me over until later?"

"Wellllll…okay. Real quick."

Both men leaned in, giving a mutual peck on the lips.

"HA! I knew it!" shouted Dr. Grossman. Steinman jumped a foot, holding onto Ralph. The stevedore gritted his teeth together, pulling John closer.

"I heard you earlier, Steinman. Why didn't you tell me you were a _queer_?"

"This is no one's business, Grossman."

"Oh, it is very much our business. It is very much _my_ business, when I'm forced to work alongside people like you!"

"You don't work in the Aesthetic Ideals. _I _didn't hire you…" growled the surgeon.

"I heard you in there with that…that ruffian! You were doing—you were having—having…you were doing very naughty things!" the physician said, pointing an accusing finger at them, then to Steinman's office. "You think you're so talented…so popular…maybe you are! But all that will change. It will change as soon as I go to the chief of surgery about this!"

"You wouldn't dare—"

"Watch me."

"I bring you my leftovers weekly, I give you advice when you ask for it, which happens to be more than any reputable physician would, and this is the thanks I get?!"

"I thought you were _my_ friend! Then I find out you're a…a…"

"A plastic surgeon? Yes, I am. A very talented one."

"…I meant a-a-a _bum-fucker_!"

Barsetti rushed the doctor. He seised him by his tall collar, slamming up him against a wall. His boots couldn't touch the waxed floor.

"Get your filthy hands off me you disease-ridden sow!" Grossman immediately fell to Ralph's mercy, succumbing to his intense microphobia.

"What did you call Dr. Steinman?"

"I-I-I—"

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that…"

"I-I didn't say anything! Don't touch me! Let me go, please! You're crawling, _crawling_!"

"Take back what you said about Steinman and keep clear of the chief surgery guy…or I'll give you somethin' to cry about."

"Unhand me! I don't want your germs!"

"Do as I say or I'll run back to my flat at the Artemis Suites. I work at the docks, and stay in communal apartments. I'm sure I can find some TB, or typhoid, or even a little cold for you…"

"NO! No, don't you dare! Let me go! Let me go!" By now, the doctor was practically in tears, begging and tearing at Ralph's large hands.

"Promise!" yelled the worker, slamming the man's head against the wall a second time. "Or I'll give you somethin' to call in sick about!"

"Just—a moment."

Everyone did a simultaneous pivot to the left. A short, bespectacled man flanked by a worried nurse stood in the hall.

"…Dr. Steinman, what is this hoodlum doing?"

"Nothing, sir. Ralph, put Grossman down."

The stevedore obliged.

"He doesn't know any better. He's just here to fix a few light panels. Grossman provoked him. I'll take it from here, Dr. Moore."

Giving Barsetti a sideways look, he turned to the physician. "Grossman, I need a word with you."

"What for?"

"Apparently, Nurse Rosalind overheard you saying something about 'jamming your arm up to the elbow in someone's rear end'?"

"But-But I-I didn't—"

"I shouldn't have to remind you that we here at the Medical Pavilion are respected physicians still bound by an oath, even miles under water. You are not to harm or somehow…pleasure…your patients in any shape or form. You were obviously exaggerating with regards to the prostate examination, but—"

"But, Mr. Director, I—"

"Then come with me. We've obviously much to discuss." Without another word, Dr. Moore stepped to one side, allowing Grossman to go first. The antagonising physician shot the most bloodthirsty look he could at muster at the pair, stalking down the hall to the foyer.

Ralph waited until the doctors were gone from sight. As he went to address his lover, he watched him wrestling with his surgical gown.

"John? What's up?"

Steinman unbuttoned it, pulling it over his head. "Ralph…I'm taking the evening off. We're going home. I-I-I'm too shaken-up."

"What's the matter, John? That director guy just saved our—"

"Ralph, I thought he was coming for me! I thought he had found out about my…" He couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence. "We need to leave. Wait here while I lock my office up."


	15. Phase 15

Phase 15-August, 1958

Two places were laid out at table. Steinman adjusted the rows of silverware as Barsetti entered. He eyed the table with confusion; he'd never seen so many glittering utensils in one place, save for one of his cousin's weddings on the surface.

"What's the occasion, Johnny?" he enquired.

"Good, I'm glad you're here! It involves you, as a matter of fact," John replied.

"Oh no, John, I'm still full from last night," Ralph grimaced, rubbing his stomach.

"No, no, we won't be eating anything."

"Then what's with the swag?"

"I'm going to teach you a little table etiquette."

Ralph paused, staring hard at his lover. "…You mean I gotta put on a dress?"

The surgeon laughed out loud. "What in the world are you talking about? I meant I'm going to teach you what silverware to use with what dish. We're going to the Kashmir Restaurant to-night for a gathering Mr. Ryan is holding."

"…This sounds hard," the worker said.

"Don't worry, I have confidence in you," assured the doctor, pulling out a chair.

"How am I supposed to remember all this?" Ralph continued, sitting down.

"It's easy. All you have to do, more or less, is go down the line. Starting here. Obviously, this is your napkin. It's always to the left of the dinner plate. So is your salad and dinner fork, here. Your dessert utensils and bread dish are up here, slightly to the left. Over here, in order, is your dinner knife, teaspoon, soup spoon, and cocktail fork. Just above those are your water glass, wine glasses, and coffee cup. Make sense?"

The big dockhand gaped at him in disbelief. "…You got somethin' against a plate, a knife, and a fork?"

"Ralph, I know this may seem overwhelming, but it's really quite simple. If it helps, you make a sort of a zig-zag motion and you start from the left. There's also a bit of common sense as well. Bigger utensils often call for bigger dishes, like the dinner fork verses the salad fork. Salads are smaller than the main course, so it calls for a smaller fork. See?"

"…Guess that makes sense." Ralph cautiously picked up the fork to the extreme right. "So…this is the salad fork?"

"No, that's the cocktail fork."

"What's the difference?"

"The salad fork is on the left and used for salads. The cocktail fork is on the right and used for cocktails."

"…Okay, wise-guy," Ralph muttered.

"You'll get it, Ralph. We'll just run through it a few times."

They spent roughly and hour on table etiquette. Ralph, a bit stubborn, managed to remember half of the utensils and their positions. John was beginning to lose his patience.

"Okay, I know this is the plate, the uh, dinner plate. This is the coffee mug, these are wine glasses, this is the napkin—"

"What about the rest?"

"I'm gettin' to 'em, I'm gettin' to 'em. So, this is the…dessert spoon?"

"Yes!"

"And fork."

"Correct."

"…And the dinner fork is here?"

"Yep."

"And the dinner knife is over here."

"So far so good."

Ralph stared at the small plate on the left corner. "…Bread plate," he stated, pointing to it.

"Uh-huh."

The stevedore touched the small fork on the left. "…What the hell is this for again?"

Steinman dug his fingers through his hair, doing all he could to keep his cool. "Salad fork!"

"Why the fuck do you need four goddamn forks?! One's fine!"

"I didn't make this up, Ralph! This is the set standard for tables at formal gatherings! It's been so for decades!"

"I need a cigarette…" Ralph grumbled.

"You can't, Ralph. You're trying to quit," answered Steinman.

The big man growled loudly, digging his hands through his hair. "You're a real piece of work, ya know that?!" Lifting his bulk from the chair, he slammed it back under the table, heading out to the balcony.

"…I need a stiff drink." The plastic surgeon made himself a very dry martini and sat down at the table with a deep sigh.

Clearing his throat, the tall stevedore reentered the apartment after his moment alone. He found his lover indeed with a drink in his hand. Steinman bit the olive off of the toothpick, staring up at Ralph as he entered. Barsetti cleared his throat once more, placing his hands into the pockets on his pants.

"…S-Sorry I kinda wigged-out on ya there, Johnny. I didn't mean to call ya a 'piece of work'. I was just frustrated is all. I'm tryin' to learn this, but I'm dumb as a post."

"Oh…you're not dumb, Ralph. It's a lot to take in in a short amount of time. I'm sorry I tried to overwhelm you with all this."

"It's no biggie. I get what you're tryin' to do."

"Just watch me when we eat and it'll work out."

"Sure thing."

"Thanks."

They smiled at each other.

"So…what time's this shindig to-night?"

"We need to leave at seven o'clock."

"Hm…it's about three hours until then. Gives us more than enough time…"

"For?" Steinman questioned playfully.

"I think you know what for…" Ralph snapped his suspenders off his shoulders, unbuttoning his pants.

"Oh, right…_I _know time it is," enticed the doctor, sidling up from his chair and around the island. Ralph met him in front of the sink, placing his hands on his waist.

"…Time for you to help with the dishes from last night!"

Ralph's grin immediately dropped as a plate was placed into his hand. John stood on his toes, kissing him on the cheek.

"I'm going to go take care of some finances. When you're done, we can hop in the shower together. Love you, big guy!" Patting his rear, he moved out of the kitchen, into one of the back rooms. Ralph stared blankly at the hallway he passed through.

"…This isn't what I had in mind, ya know!" he growled.

Barsetti waited patiently on the sofa. He was very nervous. He'd never really been to a party before, at least, one that was hosted by high-society. He'd been to a few drunken birthday parties at bars or in his old tenement in the Artemis Suites, but never anything like the evening before them. Steinman appeared from the hallway, fastening his watch around his wrist and tightening his tie. He smiled at his lover, who smiled back.

"Hey there, love. Are you getting ready?"

"I'm ready. I just gotta fix my hair."

"Okay, but remember, we should be leaving around seven o'clock."

"Gotcha."

Ralph followed him into the bedroom, twisting open his jar of pomade on the dresser.

"This should be an interesting night. No one besides Ryan and Cohen has seen us together. Hopefully, no one catches on," Steinman said. He alighted at the foot of his bed, pulling on his sock garters.

"Eh, I'm sure they've seen me in the crime column," replied Barsetti, slicking his hair back.

"Ralph, you're not a criminal."

"I know, I'm just kiddin'." After fixing his hair, he turned to face his lover. "Well, how do I look?"

"You're finished?"

"Yeah, I'm ready."

"Er, I know you don't want to hear this, but…you're going to have to dress a bit more formal than that."

"What? What's wrong with this?" Ralph had on a white button-up, his black suspenders, and black slacks.

"Honey, we're going to the _Kashmir Restaurant_. It's only the fanciest eatery in Rapture. You have to wear a tie to get in."

"Oh no…you're not makin' me wear a coloured noose, are ya?"

"I'm wearing one."

"But you always wear ties, pudding cup. Even when we're just hangin' 'round the apartment."

"Oh, come now, don't complain. It's only a little tie. Now behave," Steinman chided, pulling up his partner's collar and handing him a tie. Ralph groaned dramatically. "Don't whine, Ralphie. I'm letting you wear the sport coat, aren't I? That's bad enough. Here, I'll teach you how to tie it. Take both ends in your hands; make sure the thinner side is just above your waistband…like that! Next, slip this end behind the other…good…now cross the wide end over the front up here, thread it through the space around your neck here…then slip it into the hole…no, up here…um…" the surgeon studied Barsetti's progress. "…Er, maybe I should do it for you." He took up both ends, working meticulously.

"…You sure this is a good idea, Johnny?"

"I want you to come along, Ralphie. I think this'll be a good experience for you. You need to mingle, meet more people, meet my friends."

"I'm not much of a mingler. I'm more of a sit-by-the-bar-and-stay-outta-the-way kinda guy."

"Well, perhaps we can break you of that to-night. You're fun to be with, Ralph. You're very funny."

"You're just sayin' that 'cause I'm your boyfriend."

John cinched the tie comfortably to his throat, kissing him on the cheek.

"…I'm not. Now, let's go."

Inside the bathysphere, Ralph's unease was visibly noticeable. He fidgeted uncontrollably, constantly checking his pockets and tugging on his collar.

"Ralph, don't keep pulling like that, you'll loosen the tie."

"I can't help it, Johnny. I'm nervous."

"What are you worried about?"

"Well…I'm not like you and your friends. I don't have any money and I'm not good at anything or smart. I'm not special or anything like that."

The surgeon took one of his meaty hands, cradling it gently. "…I think you're special, Ralph. I wouldn't have brought you along if I didn't think you were something special."

Barsetti smiled weakly, tightening his grip on his lover's hand. "So, Mr. Ryan's gonna be there?"

"Uh-huh."

"…Is Cohen gonna be there?"

"…He should. And I plan on giving him a piece of my mind. That way he can choke on it."

"Anybody else I would know?"

"…No, not that I think you would know of, at least. Those are the only ones I've introduced you to."

"How you plannin' on introducin' me? As your lover?"

Steinman's face went a light red. "No. We have to make it seem like we're only friends."

"I gotta hard time believin' they're gonna think we're friends. I mean, you're so talented and popular, and I'm nothin'."

"It's because of my talent and popularity that they don't dare question," remarked the surgeon. That being said, he leaned in, kissing Ralph on the forehead. "Don't worry, dear."

The bathysphere docked, allowing them their exit.

"Do you know what's on the menu, to-night?"

"The Kashmir has a very diverse menu. If you're worried at all, don't be. You'll find something."

"Oh, I'm not worried. I was just wonderin' if it'll taste as good as your meals."

"The food here is very good. Don't fret. And their wine list is excellent, if you're in the mood."

"Eh, I think to-night might be a liquor night."

"Whatever you want, babe, drinks are on me," John said.

The doors pulled apart for them as they entered. Ralph gave a low whistle as he looked about the foyer. It was definitely the fanciest joint he'd ever been in, topside and in Rapture. A few men in clean suits or the odd tuxedo were scattered about, talking and laughing. They received a few looks from the partygoers, in the style of cautious and lightly disgusted. A few began muttering between them. Abandoning his intimidation, Ralph began to feel anger. He couldn't help but narrow his eyes at the accusing upperclassmen. One man stepped out of the restaurant, laughing uproariously at something someone said from inside. He grinned brightly as he spotted Steinman.

"Ah, Steinman! I'm so glad you're here!" He had a brush moustache, neat dark hair combed away from his forehead, and an English accent.

"Likewise, Gil!" he replied, meeting him in a hug. "Ralph, this is Dr. Gilbert Alexander. Gil, this is my good friend, Ralph Barsetti."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance! John's told me one or two things about you," the man said, offering his hand with a slight bow.

"Oh, uh, it's nice to meet you, too, Doctor," Ralph nodded, shaking his hand.

"He's a bit nervous," Steinman whispered to Alexander. The worker managed to hear the word "nervous" and frowned slightly.

"Oh, no need, no need," Alexander assured. "No use waiting out here. Come, I saved you a place at my table."

"Dr. Alexander developed the security robots in Rapture. Isn't that fascinating?" the surgeon explained as they followed him into the restaurant. Gil rolled his eyes playfully.

"Wow, that's somethin'. 'Course, that isn't much comin' from me. I don't know a thing about technology."

"What do you do for a living, Mr. Barsetti? You're a…my, I'm drawing a blank…"

"Uh…" Ralph thought, wondering if he should tell him the truth.

"He's an engineer," Steinman added with a grin.

"Engineer! Of course! How could I forget like that?"

Barsetti gave his partner a look of confusion.

"He worked on the new bathysphere tunnel they recently built to the Medical Pavilion. For the workers at Port Neptune."

"Um…yeah, yeah, as a matter of fact, I uh, I was doin' that. And you can just call me Ralph, it's no problem," he said, lowering his bulk into a chair.

"I beg your pardon, Ralph. John's told me so many times, I don't have room to forget like that."

"It's okay."

"Where's Mr. Ryan?" Steinman enquired.

Alexander nodded, finishing the sip he had taken from his highball glass. "…Over by the bar. I do believe he's entertaining Mr. Stalk."

"Oh, yes! I see. If you gentleman will pardon me for a moment, I should greet him." He patted one of Ralph's shoulders and headed off.

"My, you're well-built. Do you play any sports at all?" Dr. Alexander enquired of Ralph, sitting down next to him.

"Uh, no, I uh, don't. I used to lift weights on the surface, though."

"Well, if you ever desired to, you'd be well-suited for rugby or American football. I would consider."

"Oh…well, thanks, Dr. Alexander."

He nodded with a smile, looking around the restaurant. "Oh, I'm sorry! Would you like a drink? Or something to eat? I can call for a waiter, if you're hungry."

"I think I'll take a drink, for the moment."

"Come with me. I'll go to the bar with you."

The walk to the bar seemed to take a lifetime for Ralph. He felt awkward and out of place amongst all the brilliant and talented minds. He avoided eye contact with almost everyone. The bartender immediately took notice of them as they approached.

"What can I get you, Doctor?"

"Go ahead, Ralph."

"Um…I'll take a Haymaker."

"Gotcha. One Haymaker, comin' up, Doc."

"Oh, uh, I'm not a doctor," Ralph said, somewhat timidly.

"Oh, sorry. Just assumed you were. It'll be right up."

Gil smiled at Ralph, nudging him lightly.

"How about that, eh? You're a whiskey-drinker?" asked Alexander.

"Yeah. I usually stick to whiskey or beer when I drink."

"I'm quite partial to vodka myself. Though it has a tendency to loosen me up a bit."

"Doesn't it do that to everyone?"

Gil laughed at this. "John said you were funny; he was right!"

Dr. Steinman wandered over, having greeted the man of the hour. "My, you two are becoming fast friends, aren't you?"

"You were certainly right, John. Ralph is very entertaining."

"Indeed he is. What are you drinking?"

"Got a Haymaker. How 'bout you? That looks interesting."

"Cherry Sidecar. Would you like to try it?"

"Sure thing. Here, I'll trade ya for a moment."

"…Mm, this is good! They certainly know how to mix drinks here."

"Amen to that."

"Well, I can't drink on an empty stomach. Have you eaten already, Gil?"

"No, not yet. I'll gladly flag a waiter down, if everyone's ready."

"I think we are. Ralph?"

"Uh…sure," he answered, remembering the ordeal with the silverware.

"Just watch me…" whispered Steinman, nudging his tall partner.

"So! Haven't a date to-night, John?" Gil enquired as they settled down to table.

"Ralph's my date, Gil," he chuckled.

"Er…I meant like a lady-friend. No relationships for you, my boy?"

"Not recently. I just don't have the time, or really the desire. One less person I've to worry about," Steinman answered, placing his napkin in his lap.

"I can sympathise with that. I haven't one either. Likewise, no time, little desire. I promised a girl on the surface…well, we can see how that went."

General laughter ensued at his comment.

"I say, I haven't seen you in quite a while, John. When did you and Ralph become friends? Recently, I'd guess."

"You'd guess wrong, Gil. Ralph and I have known each other for about about four months now. Going on five," Steinman corrected, pulling his reading glasses from inside his suit.

"Oh my! And how did you meet? Was Ralph a client of yours?"

"Actually, we worked together, seeing as he was head of the tunnel construction. He was around so often or checking in every week that, well, we got to talking and became fast friends."

"Well, are you single as well, Mr. Barsetti?"

"Uh, yeah. I don't have anybody," he said reluctantly, looking down at Steinman. The surgeon smiled, and he felt one of his hands touching his thigh in reassurance.

"Well, I'm quite confused. You're dashingly handsome, Doctor, and Ralph would give Heracles a run for his money, wouldn't you say?"

"I _would_ say…" answered John. Steinman set his glasses on his nose, opening the menu.

"I recommend the grilled whitefish. It's to die for!" Dr. Alexander suggested. This was perhaps the first time in which Ralph was almost too nervous to eat.

After dinner, in which Ralph successfully copied Steinman in his utilisation of his utensils, the big worker watched his doctor from their table. He was engaged in a conversation with Mr. Ryan at the other end of the room. He was very animated, using his hands, and arms, to illustrate his points, one wrist very limp. Ryan smiled and nodded, occasionally taking a drink from his martini glass. Ralph smiled as well, entertained by his lover's excitement. Dr. Alexander had gone to order another drink, leaving him alone for a moment. So far, he was enjoying the Englishman's company, but he talked a little too much for Ralph, and he only got chattier as he continued to drink. In whole, he was enjoying everyone's company—

"'Ee's over there, wif Ryan—"

"Oh, yeah. I see, now."

The conversation at the table next to theirs piqued Ralph's attention, and he listened closer.

"Right sick o' that surgeon, Oi am."

"Why so, Bill?"

"If Oi didn't know any better, Oi'd think that Steinman built the city. He's so full of himself. Finks 'ee's the best fing since sloiced bread."

"He _is _a bit of an egotist…" agreed the other man softly.

"A bit? Please, he's the ruddy definition."

One of Barsetti's eyelids twitched.

"The man's a bleedin' idiot, too. For one reason or another, 'ee refuses to keep the poipes in the Medical Pavilion 'eated. Poipes aren't 'eated, poipes freeze. Poipes freeze, poipes burst. And then, Rapture starts leakin' and once she starts, the old girl's never gonna stop. Then we'll all be up the river. 'They don't need to be 'eated all the toime', 'things are foine', says 'ee."

"That's common sense, if you ask me."

Ralph tightened his grip on his tumbler of whiskey. He'd give the Limey bastard at the next table one more chance to shut his face…

"Ralph? Are you alright?" Gil asked, returning to the table.

"…I'm fine…"

"Ooh, you don't look fine in the least, chap. Did you bite your tongue or something?"

"But you know the worst fing of all…" here, the man lowered his voice. "…Oi fink Steinman's a queer."

"Really? I don't see it."

"It's so obvious, man! Watch 'im, look at the way he talks. Usin' 'is 'ands all…limp…loike that."

"Eh…I guess he does look a little feminine. He's also probably had a couple drinks, though, too. I'm everybody's best friend when I'm blotto."

"What's more…you see that bloke right there?"

The hair on the back of Ralph's neck stood on end.

"Careful, Bill, that lad's pretty big. I wouldn't want to get him steamed up."

"Well, Oi fink 'ee's Steinman's date."

"Maybe he's his bodyguard? Seems like a good idea, nowadays."

"Oh, 'ee's guardin' 'is body, alroight. Oi fink 'ee's doin' a bit more than just guardin' it. Oi'd stake me loife that Steinman's an arse—"

The whiskey glass shattered in his massive hand. Barsetti instantly rose from the table. He'd had enough. The worker made a beeline for the talkative Brit. The Aussie who was sitting with him immediately moved away as Ralph approached. Before the Englishman could take action, Ralph's fist connected with his jaw. An arc of blood spurted from his lip as he crashed to the floor. Barsetti threw the table aside, stepping over the other man. Women screamed and men shouted. Bill picked himself up, dodging the big Italian's next punch.

"Don't you _ever_ talk that way about Doc Steinman!" the worker yelled.

"Getcher paws off me, ya bleedin' queer!" he warned, squaring up. Ralph knew only the basics of boxing and the man made it apparent he knew how to fight. Barsetti stepped off, keeping his guard raised.

"What's going on here?! What are you doing?" demanded Steinman as he appeared at his side.

"Who let that monster in here in the first place?" yelled a smart-looking woman with glasses.

"Trash from Apollo Square…they're all the same!" another person added.

"Get this creep outta here!"

A throng of voices agreed, throwing forth insults and condemnation of all manners. Ralph backed up towards the door. He was growing all the more threatened.

John stood solemnly, staring at the floor.

"John, I—"

The surgeon ignored him, making as if he wasn't even associated with him.

Ryan placed his hand on one of Bill's shoulders. "Are you alright, Bill?"

"Oh, Oi'll be fine, Mr. Ryan. It's 'im ya ought to be worried about," he answered, wiping blood from his lip. "If'n Oi ever see 'im again."

Ryan turned to Ralph, pointing toward the door roughly. "You. Get out. Or I'll have you thrown out. I never want to see you here, or near any of my people, again."

Staring at the scornful people in the room one last time, he turned and stalked out of the restaurant. He noticed Steinman. He stood off to the side, face very red, his hands clenched by his side.

"Go about your business. There won't be any more trouble to-night," Ryan promised, addressing the masses. Ever cautious, they returned to tables, their groups, or to the bar.

"John?" Ryan said, stepping towards him, pulling him aside after helping Kyburz right the table. The surgeon set his jaw.

"…I've never been so embarrassed…" he muttered. "I suppose this is what I get for trying to bring a ruffian into the circle."

"Now do you understand why I don't entirely trust him?"

"We're good friends! And he's very prideful; he just didn't—"

"If you're going to insist on bringing him out into society, then he needs more…training, John. He's not ready to comingle yet."

Steinman nodded stiffly.

"Why don't you step out for some air, John? Oh, and, should you decide to come back, I'd appreciate it if you came alone."

"…Then good-night," he stated out loud, tugging on his suit-coat. Without another word, he hurried out of the restaurant.

Ralph was waiting patiently by himself on a bench by an empty bathysphere. He stood when John neared, straightening out his sport coat.

"…H-Hey, Johnny, I—"

"We're leaving."

Ralph was struck by the coldness in his tone. Steinman wasn't happy; he'd never seen him this angry before. Cautiously, he followed his lover into the bathysphere, sitting opposite him. John punched in the code, it lurched, and slowly glided to their destination. Ralph kept to himself, wringing his hands slightly, like a nervous young boy awaiting punishment. John stared out of the glass paneling, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. It was a very long time before Barsetti found the courage to speak.

"…J-John?"

The surgeon didn't even twitch.

"…John?"

No response.

"John."

Finally, Steinman sighed, slowly turning to him.

"…I-I'm sorry."

He looked back out to the city in the sea, adjusting his suit-coat. "…You should be."

"That all you gotta say to me?"

"Ralph!" he stated, whipping back towards him. For a moment his breathing quickened, but he calmed himself down.

"…I…I have _never _been more embarrassed in my _entire_ life. Never! I hope you realise this."

Barsetti hung his head.

"Do you know what I said to my close friends? Hm? …I told them that I was bringing my best friend along. I told them that he wasn't used to parties like this. But I wanted to bring you, Ralph, because I love you and I am comfortable enough to share you with my other friends." He paused, Ralph tucking his head into his broad shoulders in shame. "Then you punch Bill McDonagh? Ralph…what were you thinking?"

"I didn't like what he was sayin' about you!" he pleaded. "He was callin' you all sorts of rotten names and sayin' how stupid he thought you were…worst of all, he was bad-mouthin' our relationship and us bein' queers."

Steinman adjusted his coat again, looking downwards. "…Bill and I aren't the greatest friends. But he's Ryan's personal contractor. Ryan likes him a lot. We're forced to be near each other at get-togethers."

"John…" He leaned forward and touched his partner's knee.

"Don't touch me," Steinman ordered.

Barsetti immediately retracted his hand. "John…I'm sorry I embarrassed you. I just didn't want him talkin' about you like that. I don't want anyone talkin' like that about you."

Steinman stared into his big blue eyes. No matter how hard he tried, he knew he couldn't resist him. He sighed as he reached down and patted his hand.

"Next time, help me by not helping me."

"If it's what you want, cookie."

"It's what I want."

"…Are you still mad at me?"

Steinman sighed deeply, looking back outside. "…Yes, Ralph. I'm still angry with you."

The big worker's shoulders drooped; he looked hurt by the answer.

"…Oh."

John rounded on the end table, scribbling down a note on the pad by the phone. Barsetti turned, watching him. The surgeon looked up, cocking an eyebrow.

"…What?"

"…Just lookin'," shrugged Ralph rather timidly.

Steinman went back to his writing.

"Hey, John. Do you wanna maybe…cuddle a little bit?"

"Not now, Ralph. I've got too many things to do. You could be helping me, you know, then they would get done faster. You're always asking about helping me out, now that you live here, too, you can start now."

"Yeah, yeah, sheesh…just like a dame," muttered Barsetti to himself. He leaned on the cushions, watching his partner busy himself at the sink with the dishes. He watched him for roughly five minutes.

"…John?"

"Yes, Ralph?"

"Well, then, if you won't do that…will you rub my shoulders? Please?"

"Ralph, I told you. I've got a lot of work to do."

"When you're done then?"

Steinman growled. "By then, I'll probably just want to go to sleep. Now please. I'm very tired and very frustrated."

"You're not still mad, are you?"

John slammed a plate down in the sink, shattering it. This served to startle Ralph.

"…Yes, Ralph…as a matter of fact, I am. I'm still very upset with you."

"Stop doin' that," retorted the worker.

"Doing what?"

"Whenever I do somethin' wrong, you always talk to me like I'm three, like I'm a kid!"

"Well, I'll treat you like you're thirty-seven when you start _acting_ like you're thirty-seven! You didn't have to start a fight with Bill. You're twice his size! We went over this already."

"And _I_ told _you_ already, I didn't like the way he talked about me…and I didn't like what he said about you!"

"Ralph, many people are envious of me or don't like me, I'm used to it. What you did was uncalled-for and unnecessary!" He turned back to the sink, picking up the pieces of the shattered plate.

"Oh, and I liked that bit about the engineer. What…a stevedore ain't good enough for ya? A dockhand ain't good enough for your famous, popular, rich friends?"

"At least we're _doing_ something with our lives," Steinman said to himself in a mocking tone.

"Engineer…huh! This is my 'friend' Ralph. He's an engineeer. I let him lay me down like a little bitch, but we're 'just friends'," Barsetti continued to harangue the surgeon in a nasally, exaggerated voice.

"Ralph, stop it!"

The big worker ignored him, getting comfortable on the sofa.

"Now what'll this do for my image? I bring a rowdy _dockhand_ to a party and he nearly murders Andrew Ryan's personal contractor. I can't imagine what people will be saying. Hopefully, no one caught on to—"

"Oh, so _that's _why you're so mad…you're worried about your_ image_!"

"I'm a very important person!"

"…Man…I had no idea you were so stuck-up."

Steinman returned to the big worker. They locked stares.

"…Do you know that my closest friends warned me about people like you? They all said that getting involved with a dockhand, someone from the lower-class, would get ugly. Now I see what they all meant!"

"Well, excuse me for tryin' to defend my honour! Yours too. Someone has to, seeing as you obviously don't."

"I wouldn't have to defend my honour if I didn't have people around who would tarnish it!" retorted the surgeon.

Ralph nodded slowly. "Alright…okay…I see how it is. If I make you so miserable, I'll leave. I can take a hint. Maybe you'll get lucky and find another pretentious, stuck-up doctor to fuck with!" Barsetti grabbed his leather jacket from the coat-rack, thrusting his arms through the sleeves.

"Oh, so you're leaving? Is that it?"

"I don't got no reason to stay…if I'm just gonna make you look like a duller star."

"Where do you have to go? You moved out of the Artemis Suites."

"I got places. I got friends who would be dyin' to put me up! Friends who don't give a fuck that I'm a stevedore! Friends who don't give a fuck that I don't use a million different utensils at dinner! I don't wanna be in this bougie rat-trap anyway—"

"Then _good riddance_!"

The dockhand looked hurt by his sudden outburst. Steinman was even a bit surprised at what he had said. It quickly passed as Ralph flipped his collar up, sneered, and stormed from the apartment.

Snub was a bit shocked when he found Ralph in his apartment at the Artemis Suites. He had moved out to live with the surgeon days ago. Pushing his door back, he found the big worker propped up on his bed, slamming cans of Old Harbinger beer at an alarming rate. Snub leaned against the doorway, watching his friend. Barsetti finished the current can, belching loudly and crushing it against the side of his head. He tossed it off to his left, adding to the pile.

"…Whadder you lookin' at?" he drawled a challenge, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his wrist.

"…Lemme guess," Snub raised both of his hands to his temples, mimicking some sort of swami. "…You broke up with Steinman."

"Psh…Steinman. John fuckin' Steinman…" he cracked another can. "Steinman's…we care fur ya. Tell you what-the only thing he cares 'bout…bein'-popular." Snub picked up on the hitch in his voice. It had been quite some time since he'd seen his friend _this_ drunk.

"What happened?" he asked, settling down on the foot of his mattress.

"So we went t'this party…at the Kashmur Rest'rant. An' I—punched a guy. Right in th'fuckin' face." Ralph held up one of his large fists.

"Oh."

"Steinman got all-mad at me. An' he tol' me that—that…ugh, 'scuse me…that I'm like…makin' him look all bad, 'n…"

"…I see."

Snub jumped as Ralph wailed out loud. He turned over on his stomach, burying his face into his pillow. His voice was muffled and his friend missed whatever it was that he had said.

"Uh…are you talkin' to me or the pillow, man?"

"Don't judge me!"

"I can't hear you well enough to judge you."

"I'm fucked, Snub…I'm fucked. I'm fucked, I'm fucked, I'm fucked…"

"Well, if you're broken up, then you're not, Ralphie—"

"Steinman hates me, his friends hate me, and Fontaine's gonna hate me! God, he's gonna fuck me if he finds out!"

"Sheesh, you swear like a sailor when you're plastered. Then again…I guess you were one."

"Ow' know what t'do, Snub…"

"…Well, first, I suggest you cut out the brew—" he swiped a can from his friend's hand, "and get some sleep. You're scheduled to work to-morrow and the last thing you wanna do is lift heavy crates hungover."

"Steinman won't lemme smoke. Got these…" he said, lifting the last can. Snub also jerked it from his palm.

"C'mon, Ralphie. I'm serious, just go get some sleep."

"Fuck you. I'm goin' t'bed," huffed the big worker, turning on his side.

"Uh, I don't think so. I love ya to death, Ralphie, but you're sleepin' in your own room to-night. C'mon…" He pulled his big friend up from his mattress, trying to keep him steady. Ralph continued to slur as Snub guided him back to his neighbouring apartment.

"God, I hate parties…an' I ain't no fuckin' engineer…I'ma mobster-stevedore-dock…thing…"

"God, are you wasted," Snub sighed. Ralph collapsed on his mattress. Luckily, he was snoring in seconds. His friend adjusted his cap, heaving a loud sigh. He went out into a storage closet, retrieving a bucket. He placed it by his pal's bed, just in case. Shaking his head, he lowered himself to Ralph's side. He took to rubbing one of his huge shoulders.

"…Glad to have you back, big guy. Even if you're totally shitfaced." Snub waited a few minutes, silently watching his friend. "Damn, this guy must be miserable," he shook his head. "He's gonna have a rough day to-morrow." He stood, pulling a thin blanket over the sleeping brute. "…Sleep tight, you big greaseball," he said, shutting the door on the way out. He kept the remaining two cans he'd swiped from Ralph for himself. Opening one, he took a long swill, setting it on his nightstand. He switched off the light, pulling his cap down over his eyes as he got comfortable on his pillow.


	16. Phase 16

Phase 16-August, 1958

Petunia knocked on the door to Dr. Steinman's office lightly. She received a faint admittance in reply. Letting herself in, she found the surgeon at his desk, listlessly picking at his lunch.

"Hello, Dr. Steinman."

"Oh…good afternoon, Petunia."

She wore a look of concern, settling down into the chair in front of his desk.

"There's something wrong, isn't there, Doctor?"

"There's nothing wrong. Why would you say that?"

"You haven't been yourself to-day. You're a lot more melancholy."

He sighed, resting his head in an open palm. "I suppose I am a bit…melancholy."

"That, and Ralph isn't here. He always stops by on your lunchbreaks."

Dr. Steinman turned his head, staring at the wall.

"…That's the problem, isn't it, sir?"

"Well, it's just…" he paused. "…We got into a rather nasty argument last night. But, he disgraced me at a party! He punched Andrew Ryan's personal contractor because he didn't like what he heard him saying about me."

"Oh my gosh!"

"I don't think I can forgive him for that."

"Well…may I give you my opinion, sir?"

"Go ahead, Petunia."

"If I had a friend who was willing to stick up for me if someone was saying rude things behind my back…I'd do everything I could to hold onto them. All then men I've been with never want to get involved. None of them were ever willing to stick up for me when their peers were making…comments, about me. You're an excellent surgeon, Dr. Steinman. You don't deserve to have people talking poorly about you."

"…I did say a few harsh things that surprised even _me_. Now we're not talking and I'm a bit depressed by the whole matter."

"That's terrible, sir."

"I wish I could take it all back. I also wish I could apologise, but I don't know if he'll want to see me or answer my calls."

"You could always try, sir. There's no harm in that."

"I'm a bit nervous, I suppose."

"Would you like me to mediate?" the young woman suggested. "Perhaps I can call him and explain how you're feeling and perhaps you'd both feel more comfortable talking to each other and you can get a handle on things?"

"Oh, no, Petunia. I'm not going to bring you into this mess. This is just something we have to figure out together."

"Alright, sir. Whatever you think is best. But, if I may, you really should eat your lunch. You can't perform surgery on an empty stomach."

"I have before…several times," he mumbled.

"Well…I have some paperwork to file. I just thought I'd drop by to see how you were doing. I hope you get things settled with Ralph, sir."

He offered a kind smile in reply. "Thanks, Petunia. I enjoy working with you."

"Likewise," she nodded, exiting his office.

Steinman sighed once more, staring at his phone. His eyes began wandering around the office, stalling for time as he tried to decide whether or not to call Ralph. After organising his desktop and counting the business cards he had left in the holder, he finally worked up enough courage to call Barsetti. He nervously drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited for someone to answer. An unfamiliar, nasally voice picked up, accented by heavy chewing. He had either gum or chewing tobacco, which, the surgeon didn't know.

"Lloyd."

"Er…is a Ralph Barsetti available?"

"Ralph? Eh, no. The big guy ain't around. He's workin' until…eight, I think. You want I should take a message?"

"Would you?"

"Sure. Spill."

"Er…just tell him that John called."

"You got it, chief. Anythin' else?"

"No, that'll be all. Thank you."

"No prob."

He hung up abruptly, frustrating the doctor. "A 'good-bye' would have been nice," he muttered, hanging his phone back up. He sighed, finishing the rest of his lunch. Great, now he was going to dwell on their argument until the late evening.

Lloyd tore the note he had written from the pad of paper by the phone. Staring at Ralph's closed door, he tapped his chin. In the next instant, he spat out his gum, attached it to the back of the paper, and pressed it to the door, pounding on it once with his fist.

It was around nine o'clock when Ralph finally made it home. He was kept an hour past his shift, seeing as one of the pulleys broke on a neighbouring dock and he had to lend his muscle to finish loading the bathysphere. And he had to do it all very hungover. He returned tired and sore.

"Man…am I beat," he sighed. "Least I got to-morrow off." He pulled out his key, taking a hold of the doorknob. Before opening it, the note caught his eye. Ralph peeled it off, Lloyd's chewing gum coming away, attached by a few sticky strings.

"…Nice," he commented, studying it. It was short, sweet, and to the point:

Ralph-

John called.

-Lloyd

Barsetti sighed, staring down at the floorboards. Adjusting his cap, he entered his room. He stripped himself of his jacket and his dirty sweater, tossing them in a corner. Nudging his suspenders off, he lumbered back into the hallway, taking a seat at the table with the phone. It took him a few precious moments, as it did John, but he picked up the receiver and dialed Steinman's home number.

"Dr. Steinman speaking."

"…John?"

"Oh…good evening, Ralph."

"Yeah, hi. You uh, call earlier?"

"Oh, good. You got the note. Yes, I er, I did. It was around noon, I was on my lunch hour."

"I figured."

There was silence on both lines.

"Ralph…the reason I called was…I-I want to apologise. For last night. I didn't mean to go off on you like that, and—"

"No, no, John…it's my fault. I should be apologisin' to you. I'm sorry I started that fight and did a number on that Limey. I was just tryin' to defend us both. Truth of the matter is…I love you, pudding cup. I didn't like him bad-mouthin' you like that. He can say what he wants about me, anyone can, but I'll be damned if I let them bad-mouth us or our relationship. I just can't help that I love ya."

"…Ralph…" The worker thought his lover's voice sounded a bit choked up.

"Hey, hey…it's okay, cookie. I'm not mad."

"…I'm sorry…"

"John…don't cry, baby doll," chuckled Ralph. "John…Johnny. Please. I'm not over there to comfort you."

The worker gave him a moment for his tears, listening carefully until he composed himself.

"…I'm sorry, Ralph. It's been bothering me all day."

"Yeah…me too, pudding cup."

"…Are you working to-morrow?"

"Nope. Got the day off."

"Would you like to spend the night?"

"I'll be right over."

Ralph practically ran all the way to John's apartment, running up the six flights of stairs instead of taking the lift. He had to catch his breath and take a moment in the hallway to make himself look presentable. As soon as he knocked on the door, John was there waiting for him. He grinned broadly, holding out his arms. Ralph picked him up in a tight bear-hug.

"I'm sorry, pudding cup. I didn't mean to make ya mad."

"I'm sorry, too, honeybear. I know you just wanted to protect us. I suppose I should be grateful." Steinman nuzzled into Ralph's chest, giving him another squeeze. "…Our first fight."

"It's not our first fight."

"We've only had petty arguments. This was a fight."

"What about the Cohen thing?"

"Hm…I guess you're right."

He leaned down, wiping away a few tears from his partner's cheeks. "Ugh, man, I did somethin' stupid last night."

"What?"

"I was so upset from our argument, I bought a couple packs of Old Harbinger and got totally shitfaced. Then I had to work all day all drunk 'n hungover."

"Why would you do such a silly thing?"

Ralph shrugged. "I was mad…and sad. And, I'm tryin' to stop smokin', so I just thought I'd drink. Tried to numb the pain I had at the thought of losin' you. I haven't got that drunk in a while."

"Well…I hope you learned your lesson."

"Oh, I did. I'm never drinkin' before a workday again."

The surgeon adjusted the lapels of his lover's jacket and his red suspenders.

"…So…we're jake?"

"Yes, we're fine. But…you know what this means, don't you?" Steinman said enticingly.

Ralph's face brightened. "Make-up sex?"

"You got it, big guy."

"Can I be on top?"

"Only if I get some head right before."

"You had to ask?"

"But before we get intimate…you have _got_ to jump in the shower or something."

"Do I stink?"

"Yes," Steinman stated.

The dockhand laughed. "Yeah, after workin' all day and then runnin' up here, I'd be surprised if I didn't. You uh, wanna join me? You can help me clean off."

The surgeon looked thoughtful for a moment. "…I accept your offer."

"Mm-mm-mm! There's nothin' I love more than a wet, little surgeon," chuckled Ralph.

"Why don't you er…grab your towel and get ready? I'll be right after."

"You got it, Johnny-boy."

"Er, Ralph?"

"Yep?"

"…Are you going to want to go back to your apartment to-morrow?"

"…Are you offerin' to let me stay here with you again?"

Steinman nodded. Ralph smiled, leaning down and kissing him. "Then I sure as hell don't. I'd rather stay in a bourgie rat-trap than a regular one."

"…Go get ready, big guy," the doctor said playfully, tapping him on the rear.

John lay cuddled up with Ralph on the sofa. The big worker had one arm wrapped around him, his hand tucked underneath his stomach. Steinman stroked his forearm lightly. They were watching a movie about mobsters, surprisingly, the television broadcasting having been fixed the following day. Ralph didn't mind and he, in fact, offered something of a commentary during the film.

"…Do mobsters really talk like that?" asked Steinman, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Sure they do."

"No!"

"They sure do! But those guys on the TV are from New York, those are Brooklyn accents. Chicago accents are different. You know that. You think I'd lie to you?"

"…You're not uncomfortable watching this, are you?" his lover asked sincerely.

"Nah, I'm fine. I think it's actually kinda funny. The mob is pretty different from what they show in movies."

"You'd tell me if you didn't want to watch it, wouldn't you?"

"Of course. I'd probably throw a fit and storm out of the room," Barsetti corrected. He brought one of John's hands up to his face, nuzzling it.

"Ralph? I was wondering…"

"Yep?"

"…Have you ever been with a woman?"

"You mean like, romantically?"

"Yes."

"Nah. I never really had a girlfriend and I never had a dame in bed. Why do you ask?"

"I was just curious."

"Have you?"

"Well, I dated a few girls in high school. They never lasted for very long. They would always complain that I spent more time in front of a mirror than they themselves did and that I was a prude. And I've never had intercourse with a woman. Only you and Richard."

"Well…"

"Well _what_?" John challenged.

"…You _do_ kinda, sorta spend a lotta time in front of the mirror. Like before we get ready for places."

"I can't help it that I'm disarmingly beautiful and wish to maintain it."

"Amen to that. But, why would you date a girl if you knew you liked men?" questioned Ralph.

"I didn't want people to get suspicious; I didn't want people to know I was homosexual. This world isn't very keen on the idea of two men together, on the surface or down here. Besides, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I'd heard so much from male friends."

"I guess that makes sense…"

"As you can tell, I wasn't too impressed. I have no romantic time for the weaker sex. They can't handle me."

Ralph paused, the silence being broken by gunshots and loud voices from the television. "…You sure you don't miss your, um…Richard?"

John smiled, wrapping one arm around his lover, snuggling up into his neck. "Not a bit, romantically speaking. You're a far superior lover."

"Am I?"

"Certainly. You spend much more time with me, you're there to comfort me when I need you—"

"Rich didn't comfort you?"

"…No. That's the thing I hated most about him. He never gave me a hug or a kiss or even just wrapped an arm around my shoulders when I was upset. He was so…awkward. It was almost as if he didn't know how to handle any other feelings other than his own."

"That's the one thing I hate most of all…seein' you upset."

Steinman snuggled down deeper. "…Your cock is also much bigger than his."

"Guess I am a pretty big guy…"

"That's another thing, he always wanted to be on top. He'd never be on the giving end of oral either. He always wanted me to bottom and he always wanted me on my knees."

"That would get boring, I'd think."

"It did. You know, sometimes I wonder why I was so attracted to him. I guess because he was also a doctor and, well, also another homosexual man. I didn't meet many men like me on the surface, at least…no one was willing to admit it if they were."

"…Hey, John?"

"Yes?"

"…You're not embarrassed by me bein' a dockhand, are you? Like, when you tell your friends what I do for a livin'?"

"I usually don't tell them and they usually don't ask. I haven't really told many of my friends about you, honestly. When they ask me about my love life, I usually just tell them I'm seeing someone, and leave it at that. They just assume you're another doctor or a woman, if they do know my sexuality. I'll be honest, maybe I was at first, but…now, I couldn't care less. I love you as you are, and I wouldn't want to try and make you out to be something you're not."

"If that's true, why did you tell Dr. Alexander that I was an engineer and not a stevedore?"

"Ralph, I only did that to get you into the party."

"But Ryan was hostin' it, wasn't he? He knows I'm just a stevedore."

"Yes, but, if everyone else there had found out, they would have complained or harassed you. Not everyone understands that people of worth or significance aren't only found in the fields of science, medicine, or art. I only did it to protect you."

Ralph hugged him closer. "I wish it was okay for us to be together, Johnny. I wish people would just deal with the fact that we love each other."

"Me too, Ralph…me too."

"…Hey, Johnny?"

"Mm-hm?"

"Would you ever wanna go back to the surface?"

"No. Definitely not. No matter how bad things get down here, they could always be worse on the surface. But, were I allowed a visit, I would do two things."

"What's that?"

"…I would show you off to Richard, or your photo, to show him what a real lover is like, and I would tell my parents I'm homosexual."

"They don't know?"

Steinman shook his head. "No one knew." They took another slight pause.

"Yeah. When my brother Tony came to visit me one time in prison, I told him I loved…well, my then partner…and he just rolled his eyes and said 'yeah, whatever, Ralph', jokingly. I'm uh, not so keen on showin' you a picture of him. You'll think he's better lookin'; my brother's pretty cute."

"I don't know…you're quite a hunk," the surgeon complimented, squeezing one of his forearms.

"Well, he's not as big as me, but he's cuter. Clean-shaven, softer features, you know, good sized, not skinny and not fat. He got jilted by his girlfriend a few days before I left. Wonder how he's doin'. My sister got married; I missed her wedding because I was behind bars. That was probably one of the worst things about my sentence; I wanted to be there to support her so bad. I also wanted to let her beau know that if he ever hurt her, what I'd do to him would put me _back _behind bars."

"Did you ever want children?"

Ralph smirked. "I dunno. I don't mind kids. Italians have a big thing for families and kids, so I always had a lot of relatives of all ages around. Lots of kids. I guess I thought about it once or twice. I mainly wanted one or two just so I could raise them better than my dad raised us. I wanted to prove that I could easily be a better father. Yeah, I guess I wouldn't have minded a couple kids. Not a ton, just one or two. My buddy Snub's always talkin' about his daughter. He said raisin' kids is both amazing and horrible."

"…Did you ever consider relationships with women just because of it?"

"Hey, now. Let's not talk crazy. I love cock way too much to trade it for a pair of tits."

"That's good to hear."

"You ever want kids, John?"

"No, not in the least! I can't stand children! My mother used to ask me when she was going to get grandchildren, but I'd usually just laugh it off." Steinman sighed. "…I wonder if they know about my sexuality. I never brought women over, never really spent time with them. They must have had some suspicions."

"…They might. You're way too handsome; the queers are always the best lookin'." Barsetti kissed him on one of his temples, giving him a squeeze.

"Did your mother or any of your relatives know you were homosexual?"

Ralph's eyes widened. "No—fuckin'—way. My family would've killed me if they ever found out I was a homo! It's pretty much the job of every Italian to get married to another Italian and then to make Italian babies. Since I'm not gonna do either, my family would've definitely killed me. At least stopped talkin' to me."

"…I don't think my parents would have been any happier. My mother was something of a gossip, and once she and a friend were talking about a man who came into the bakery for a loaf of bread every Monday. They said he was homosexual, though they didn't it put it quite so kindly. She used to always ask how anyone could live that way and claimed that it went against nature. Listening to that conversation immediately halted any consideration I had of telling them. But now, I regret it. I wish I would have told them."

Barsetti shifted lightly, pulling Steinman closer. "…If bein' a homo is wrong, then I sure as hell don't wanna be right."

"I've rejected all religion. I think using the bible or anything like that against us is a fallacy. I'm not worried about whether or not it's 'right' or 'ethical' or anything. I don't believe in ethics, either. I'm going to do what _I_ feel is right…and nobody's going to stop me. And frankly, I can't think of a better feeling than being underneath, or on top of, you."

"In that case…" Ralph positioned himself on top of John, lining up their groins. "…Someone's horny," Barsetti chuckled heartily. The strong worker unbuttoned his pants. John grabbed his hand, smiling at him.

"Er, not to-night, Ralphie. I'm too tired."

"You're not gonna waste these nice pairs of heavy balls, are ya?"

"I'm too tired, Ralph. That's the way it is. Here, let me up a moment."

"Huh?"

"I'm coming back, don't worry," the surgeon assured. He switched the television off, stretching out his arms. Unbuttoning his cardigan, he slid it from his shoulders, removing his shirt as well. Once he was in his undershirt, he snuggled back down with his lover. Ralph, again, wrapped a comforting arm around him. John felt a large hand rubbing his back slowly. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier; he found it difficult to keep awake cuddled up with the strong Italian.

"We gonna bed down here to-night?" whispered Ralph.

"I'm game."

"Me too." A beat. "And you're sure you don't wanna—"

"Good-night, Ralph."

"Yeah…good-night, Johnny." He snuggled down into his lover's neck, a bit disappointed.


	17. Phase 17

Phase 17-August, 1958

Snub wound a length of rope around his hand, reeling it in. He frowned as he worked. Snorting, he hawked a wad of phlegm to the dock, adding another stain to the floor.

"Much better," he said to himself. He felt the dock boards vibrate as another body approached. Snub looked up to meet the gaze of the newcomer.

"Mornin', Snub," Ralph said with a smile.

"Same to ya, Ralphie." The shorter worker cocked his head in puzzlement. There was something different about his comrade, but he couldn't quite place it.

"What's first on the list?" enquired Barsetti.

"Gotta get these crates in this here bathysphere. Got the pulley just about ready," he answered, looping the rope through the worn device.

"I can lift those, Snub. Don't worry about it."

"You sure, Ralphie? Don't hurt yourself."

"I ain't gonna hurt myself. I'm a big boy. I know what I can and can't handle."

It all became apparent when he removed his jacket. Snub cleared his throat to hide his chuckling.

"What's so funny, Snub?" smiled Ralph.

"…Nothin', nothin'."

"C'mon, tell us."

"Er…you sure ya won't maul me or nothin'?"

"I won't maul ya, Snub."

"Alright, I'll hold ya to it. Turn to your left. No, you're other left."

The large worker did, one of his eyebrows raised. He placed his hands on his hips.

"What? What is it?"

"…You are puttin' on _a ton_ of weight, Ralphie-boy."

Barsetti narrowed his eyes. "Oh…so _that's_ what you're laughin' at. You're laughin' at me, eh?"

"I'm sorry, man. Steinman treatin' you right?"

"Oh, man, you don't even know! This guy missed his callin' as a chef. I eat even when I'm not hungry at his place. He's always got somethin' lyin' around, a cake, pie, leftovers, man…"

"You're lucky you don't have to deal with our meals anymore."

"And I'm never goin' back, brother. He packed me a lunch as well. Made his famous lasagna last night."

"And he had some leftover?"

"He made a shit-load, Snub. He knows it's one of my favourites."

"Steinman's noticed it, though, hasn't he?"

"I keep mentionin' it, but, he insists that I still look okay."

"Sounds like everyone's grandmother."

"Yeah. I think he's fattening me up on purpose," Ralph chuckled, patting his stomach.

Barsetti moved around his friend, fastening a weight-lifting belt around his waist, having to loosen it from the previous time he'd used it. Snub stared down at the rope in his hands. He recalled what the surgeon had said to him the first time they met a few days prior. Setting his mouth in a firm line, he caught Ralph by the arm as he passed.

"Hey, uh, Ralph?"

"Yeah?"

"…I need to tell ya somethin' more."

"You're not gonna make fun of my weight anymore, are ya?"

"No, this is much different. This is serious."

Barsetti scratched his head, staring down at his friend with his full attention. "Well, alright. I'm all ears."

"…When I helped you move into Steinman's, when we were alone for a bit on the balcony, I sorta got talkin' with him."

A gentle wash of fear eased over Ralph as he listened. He began dreading what his best friend was about to say next.

"…Okay. What'd he say to ya?" he cautioned, pulling a pair of heavy orange gloves on.

Snub sighed deeply, lowering his head. He took his characteristic cigarette from behind his ear, placing it on his lip. "…I been curious about bein' with a man, too."

"You mean, like, sexually?"

"Well…mainly as a companion, like havin' a boyfriend, ya know? But, I guess if he was horny and I was horny…I s'ppose I'd try it."

"Hey…" Ralph laughed, placing a hand on his pal's shoulder. "What d'ya know? You felt like this long?"

"For a little while, yeah."

"How come ya didn't tell me sooner?"

Snub shrugged again. "Dunno. I guess I wasn't completely sure I felt this way. I guess I was waitin' to see if it was actually true."

"Did you tell John?"

"Yeah. I told him all about Maria and Sandra and how those relationships didn't work out. I told him about my daughter Regina as well. Told him that maybe I should try bein' with a man, because I can understand men. Dames are confusin'."

"I hear ya. Well, good for you, Snub!"

A few hours into his shift, they were approached by McGee, one of Fontaine's brutes.

"Yo, Barsetti," McGee said, stepping onto their dock.

"Yep?" he was quick to answer.

"Uh, Fontaine wants to see ya 'bout somethin'."

"Oh, sure. Lead the way," Ralph said cheerfully. Snub winced. While his friend seemed to be in a good mood, he knew that the meeting was going to go anything but well.

It was a bit of a trek, seeing as Fontaine was constantly moving his office in case Ryan or his spooks were out searching for him. Barsetti entered Fontaine's office, removing his cap.

"Evenin', boss," he said, closing the door after him.

"Hey, Ralphie," Fontaine answered. He carried an air of frustration, accusation in his tone. Ralph got comfortable in the chair in front of the boss's desk, reclining slightly.

"What's the word?"

"You look, uh…different, Barsetti."

"I guess I feel different. But a good different, ya know? I think spendin' time with Steinman's changed me."

"No shit, Sherlock," mumbled Fontaine.

"Pardon?"

"Barsetti…how long you been courtin' Steinman again?"

"It's our six month anniversary on Thursday."

Fontaine winced at the mush in his employee's response. "…I see. And, tell me, how much information have you gotten on Ryan in this time?"

"I told you most of Arcadia has been made private. Ryan put a new regulation in ADAM in medicine, Ryan Industries is working on a new telekinesis plasmid, he's—"

"Yeah, and while I'm grateful for all that, you're way behind on your quota."

"…You lost me, boss," Barsetti said.

"What else is new?!" snapped Fontaine. "Look. When I gave you this assignment, I made it very clear that all you were to do was to woo the doctor so he'd be comfortable taking you to parties and social events. In the six months you been on the job, I seen a steady decline in information and other useful tidbits I might need. You're spendin' more time playin' grab-ass than you are doin' your job!"

Ralph shrugged. "We like to play grab-ass. We could be in the world series."

"This is exactly what I'm talkin' about," hissed the con-man, growing all the more infuriated. "You're showin' up late to the docks, you're never here with information, and you spend more time at his place than your own tenant. I've also noticed you've changed a bit, as well. You're not the same no-shit mobster I hired."

"I know, I know," sighed Ralph. "I've gained a bunch of weight since John and I have been together. He is a _damn_ good cook. Man, he makes the best lasagna you're ever gonna taste," Barsetti chuckled. He plucked the single rose from the vase on the desk. Studying it for a time, he smiled. "Rose, eh? _Rosaceae_?" He nodded in approval. "…It's cute."

Fontaine let his mouth hang open for a few seconds. "…Jesus Christ…he's domesticating you, isn't he?"

Ralph shrugged. "I'm okay with it."

Fontaine slammed his palms on the desktop. "Yeah? Well, I'm not 'okay with it'!" he said, mocking his employee's voice. "You listen to me, and you listen up good, Barsetti. I'm not gonna lose out to Ryan just because some fanny-assed faggot is too busy goin' up to the elbow inside a plastic surgeon!"

Barsetti narrowed his eyes, recovering his hot temper.

"I've waited long enough. Start doin' your job!"

"So that's it? You just want me to use him and then dump him?"

"You got it, cream puff. That was the plan from the start!"

The big worker gritted his teeth together, forcing himself to his feet in one swift movement. "Then I'm out."

"What?"

"I said, I'm out. I would never have agreed to this if I had known, if I had felt, what I do now. Yeah, in the beginning, I thought I'd just get a bit of ass for a few weeks and then I'd be over it. That couldn't have been further from the truth." He took a deep breath, clenching his huge fists by his side. "…I never thought I would ever feel this way about anyone, man or woman. He actually cares for me…someone on this fuckin' planet actually cares for me. I've been treated so badly, like dirt, like shit, for all of my life. John's different. He listens to me, he comforts me, takes care of me…I've never been more grateful to anyone in my entire life, and I been around the block. The stupid pet names, the nights just cuddlin', listenin' to him go on for hours about how to do this in surgery or what he has to do to fix this or that…I love it. I love it all and I wouldn't trade it for all the money, all the power, all the glory in the world. You might, Fontaine, but I wouldn't ever. I didn't before, but now I understand what it means to love someone unconditionally. I love John Sebastian Steinman, and I'll do whatever I have to to protect him and to make sure he's happy. And I know he's doing the same for me," Barsetti said, displaying his hand, the one in which Steinman had administered the ADAM that grew his finger back and regained the feeling. "You heard me right, Fontaine…_I'm_—_out_," hissed Barsetti.

The fountain pen Fontaine had took up snapped against the pressure from his hand, bleeding ink onto the desktop and through his fingers. His already beady eyes narrowed even further, an awful sneer playing out on his face. His voice was a rasping whisper when he spoke.

"…You're gonna get me what I ordered you to get me…or so help me…you're gonna find yourself in a salt pond…understood?"

"Is that a threat?" growled Barsetti.

"…It's a promise, lover-boy." It was his turn to hoist himself up, staring directly into the worker's eyes. "Stop fuckin' around with Steinman! I want results! Now, I've made up a little plan and I'm gonna letcha in on it. Since you're _obviously_ not gonna deliver the goods, I've managed to find people who will. You don't progress to Ryan through Steinman, I gotta couple guys who are real persuasive…if you catch my drift. Nevermind; I know you don't. Anyway, you don't shape up, they'll get what I want from Steinman. And guess what? I gave 'em permission to use any means necessary."

Ralph's eyes widened.

"Lashes, bamboo under the fingernails, hell, even fuckin' Chinese water torture, I don't fuckin' care. Just as long as he talks. And if he's anything like what I think he is, we'll have info in no time flat. Sure, the Medical Pavilion will miss him, but, in my line of work, you learn to never mix business with friendship. I won't miss him."

Barsetti stared off into the distance, his mind racing a mile a minute. Either work Steinman for a little longer and leave him, or risk being interrogated by Fontaine's men. He knew them well; they always got results.

"The choice is yours, cupcake," the boss said, settling back into his chair. "If I don't see any improvement in the next few weeks…the good doctor is meat for the shop. Got it?"

Ralph sat in the chair, staring down at his boots. Tears blurred his vision as he tried to regulate his breathing. His fists enclosed around the arms of the chair, his knuckles turning white.

"Shouldn't be a problem for you, though. Big, bad Ralphie Barsetti…two years in the Italian mob, three in federal prison, four in the United States Navy, no emotions, no feelin' except pain and hatred. I know you'll come around…faerie."

Barsetti rose from the chair, whipping his back to the boss. He nearly sprinted for the door.

"Make me proud, nancy-boy!" hollered Fontaine.

"Fuck you, Fontaine! FUCK YOU!" screamed Ralph once he was clear of the office. The big dockworker roared out loud. He lifted an empty barrel clear over his head, smashing it against the side of an anchored bathysphere. He planted his foot through a crate, broke another, and tore at his jacket. "Fuck you, you greedy, conning bastard!"

His raging was almost completely halted when he looked up. Above him was the advertisment for Dr. Steinman's Aesthetic Ideals he stared at every lunch and dinner break. Tears openly rolled down Ralph's cheeks as he stared at the advertisement, and the particularly handsome illustration of Steinman. He covered his face, slamming his back against a wall. He slid down pitifully, his hands moistened with his tears.

"John…John…" he chanted, his voice choked. He wept bitterly into his hands as he sat on the dock. Give up his relationship with his loving, handsome partner or risk sentencing him to be interrogated and tortured. Ralph wanted neither of those options. He'd gladly sacrifice himself if it meant that John would be spared. He thought about how he could try to save them from the mess he had created.

Almost an hour later, he looked down at his wristwatch. It was half-past seven and Steinman would be getting off work at eight o'clock. Sighing miserably to himself, Ralph picked himself up, pulled his jacket back up onto his shoulders, and sauntered towards John's apartment.

Lumbering into John's place, Ralph noticed his answering machine was blinking. Curiously, he pressed the playback button, listening in.

"_Hey, honeybear, it's me. I'm calling to let you know that I'm going to be here a little late to-night. Another client came back in wanting me to fix a few areas. I don't quite know when I'll be home but I'm going to ballpark arounddd…say, ten-ish? There's some eggplant parmesan in the icebox, if you want to heat that up, you're welcome to it. I guess that's about it. If anything else comes up, I'll call. I love you, Ralph. See you soon_."

The dockworker deleted the message immediately. A new wash of tears found their way to his eyes as he lowered to the sofa. John was so responsible, caring…loving. He was just as much a caretaker to Barsetti as he was a lover. Ralph continued to sob as he thought about all he had done for him in their short time together.

It was a little after ten o'clock when Steinman came home. He bustled into the apartment, carrying his medical bag. He unshouldered his briefcase, which he also left by the door.

"Hey, dearest! Glad to see you!" he said, rounding on the sofa. He planted a kiss on his cheek as he hugged him around the neck. "Did you get my message?"

"…Yeah…yeah, I-I got it."

"Did you eat?"

"…Er, no. I uh…I haven't yet."

Steinman cocked his head in puzzlement. "This is unlike you, Ralph." He peered closer. "…You look like you've been crying. Are you alright, dear?"

"…No."

John immediately sat down at his side, taking one of his hands in his. "What's wrong, Ralph? You must be very upset."

"I am. I…I just had a bad day, is all."

"Trouble at work?"

The worker nodded stiffly. John patted Ralph's large hand. "Why don't you try to eat something, hm? Here, I can make you something real quick—"

"Actually, Johnny, maybe not to-night. My stomach's been botherin' me."

Steinman immediately moved away on the sofa. "…You're not ill, are you?"

"No, not _that_ kind of bother. It's just stress. I'm not sick."

John looked a bit relieved. "Well, why don't you try to eat something? I'm sure it would make you feel better, at least physically. Here, I'll heat you up some nice eggplant parmesan. Remember you told me how much you liked it last night?"

"…It _was_ really good. Everything you make is good."

"That's my boy," John smiled, kissing him on the forehead. Stroking the back of his neck gently, he rose from the sofa, heading into the kitchen.

"Boy…could I use a cigarette now."


	18. Phase 18

Phase 18-August, 1958

Ralph Barsetti sat at the kitchen table the following morning, nervously drumming his fingers.

_Make me proud, nancy-boy!_ Fontaine had said to him.

If he had known he would have become this attached to Dr. Steinman during this "assignment", he would have never agreed to it. Then again, had he refused, he wouldn't have ever met him. Ralph truly believed John was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He was determined not to lose him.

_Make me proud, nancy-boy!_

Ryan seemed like a pretty okay guy, too. He had a lot of respect for him. He'd started off with nothing, just like Ralph had. He built himself, his wealth, and the city with determination and money. He was tolerant of him and John, despite the fact that they were lovers. Ralph was determined to get on better terms with him.

_Make me proud nancy-boy!_

Barsetti bolted from the kitchen table, knocking the chair over in the process. Throwing open the door, he sprinted down the six flights of stairs.

After an excruciatingly long bathysphere ride, Ralph ran to the Medical Pavilion. He'd wasted enough time during the last six months; he didn't want to waste any more. He roughly pushed aside anyone who got in his way, being very careful to dodge women and children where he could. This garnered him several angry insults and a few more enemies to his ever-growing list. Unfeeling, the burly dockworker ignored them all.

When he arrived at the Pavilion foyer, he squeezed through the automatic doors, nearly knocking over a nurse wheeling a recent patient out and another carrying a tray of ADAM syringes.

"You could've injured someone, brute!" hollered the nurse, checking on the patient.

"He thinks he owns the place," added her counterpart.

Ralph skidded on the newly waxed floors until he reached Dr. Steinman's Aesthetic Ideals. The receptionist, Petunia, looked up, greeting him with a smile as he stumbled into Surgical Savings.

"Good afternoon, Ralph. What can—"

"Petunia!" panted Barsetti, leaning heavily on her desk. "Petunia…you gotta let me see Steinman! This second!"

"Well, normally I would, but he's in surgery right now. He should be finishing up. You can go inside in about twenty minutes."

"Oh, no! He's not cuttin' in front of _me_ again!" a particularly angry client said, storming inside.

"Fuck you, man!" roared the dockhand. The tone in his voice startled both the receptionist and the client. "You go sit back down!" he ordered. The man did so obediently, backing away. Barsetti turned back to Petunia, his voice softening. "Please…I can't go in?"

"I'm sorry, Ralph. He's working. He can't be disturbed by anyone when he's working."

"Not even by me?"

"Well, he did say _anyone_. I thought it was implied. I'm sorry."

"But—"

"It's for the health and safety of the patient, too."

The worker gently took both of her shoulders, pulling her closer. She could plainly see tears welling up in his eyes and how choked his voice was becoming.

"Please, Petunia, please! I'm beggin' ya, dear. This is…this is so important. I-I didn't run all the way down here just to be turned away."

"You _ran_ all the way down here?"

He lifted his arms, displaying huge sweat patches on his shirt. "Where I could, sweetie. I gotta see him, at least before I keel over." He gently reached up, stroking one of her delicate cheeks. Petunia nodded slowly, tears welling in her eyes.

"Please…please let me see him."

"O-Okay, okay."

"So I can go in?"

"Yeah…yeah, go in."

"Thank you, thank you so much," he said with a smile. He kissed her on the forehead and continued on into the ward.

"What was_ that_ all about?" the client said with subtle disgust.

"Oh…go sit down and be quiet!" the receptionist ordered.

Barsetti panted heavily, his exhaustion finally getting the best of him. He searched through the surgery ward for only a few seconds before locating his lover. Behind the long glass window, he was bent feverishly over the current patient, a nurse at his side. Just as he was accepting a scalpel from her, Ralph pounded on the glass. Both the surgeon and the nurse jumped a foot. If Ralph had waited seconds longer, Steinman would have done serious damage to the patient's face with the sharp scalpel. The worker skidded to one of the side doors.

"John! John, I need to talk to you!" he exclaimed, taking a step forward.

"No, Ralph! Don't come any further, everything is sterile in here!" Steinman warned, holding out his hands.

"John, I need to talk to you…now!"

"Ralph, I can do no such thing, I'm working!"

"But this is important! This is probably the most important thing I'm ever gonna tell you!"

"You can't wait twenty minutes for me to finish?" the doctor challenged. All of the commotion caught the attention of one of the security cameras in the corner of the ward. It strobed a dim beacon, sending out a signal. In no time, a security bot buzzed into the ward, making a beeline for the theatre. The ruckus also garnered the attention of two other nurses. Spotting the unmoving goliath, they angrily threw themselves on him, trying to remove him from Steinman's personal ward.

"Have you gone mad, you awful brute?! How dare you disturb Dr. Steinman?"

"You're contaminating everything! Get out!"

"Get off of me, cunts!" retorted Ralph, pushing them off with ease.

"Stop it! Stop it, all of you!" shouted the surgeon above the din, pulling his mask down. Everyone immediately ceased. He took a few steps forward. "Henry, Vincent…let him be." The nurses backed off. "Ralph…" Steinman took in a deep breath, narrowing his eyes. "…Go sit in my office. I'll deal with you when I'm finished."

"John…I—"

Steinman thrust his index finger outwards. "In—my—office. Whatever it is, it can wait." Proving his point, he pulled his mask back on, continuing with his work as if nothing had happened. The muscular worker immediately backtracked, out of the threshold of the theatre. The scene on the table was making him a trifle nauseous anyway. Tears began to fill his eyes as the doors shut behind him.

"Mad-man," sneered Nurse Vincent.

"Lower-class brute," added Henry as they took their leave. Ralph remembered how John kept his sexuality from his co-workers and patients; they didn't know they were together. Lowering his head, Barsetti sauntered down to Steinman's office to wait the longest twenty minutes he'd ever wait.

It was roughly thirty before the doctor appeared. Ralph felt like he was in school again, sitting in the principal's office awaiting punishment. He looked up when John entered. Even he had to cower lightly; he'd never seen John look so angry. His current state put the one he was in after Barsetti's fight with Bill McDonagh to shame. It seemed to take a lifetime for him to cross the floor to reach his lover. When he was at his side, he folded his arms over his chest, glaring down at Ralph.

"…_Who_ do you think you _are_?" he muttered.

Barsetti didn't answer.

"Well?!"

He winced, shielding his eyes.

"You scared the living daylights out of me, knocking on the glass like that. Do you know what sort of damage I would have done if I had my scalpel to Mr. Brimley's face?"

"…Pudding cup, I—"

"No. No pet names. Not now," Steinman shook his head. He shrugged flamboyantly, letting his arms come roughly to his sides. "Well? What's this big important thing you have to tell me, eh?"

It took a long while before Ralph was finally able to reply. "…I…I screwed up, John."

"So you're telling me you came down here, interrupted my work, and nearly caused me to slash open a client's face to tell me things I already know?"

"It's got nothin' to do with my past!" shouted Ralph, standing. John was intimidated by his strong lover, but he tried desperately not to show it. Barsetti sighed with desperation. "…John…I've got somethin' to admit to you. Somethin' I shoulda told you a long time ago."

Steinman shrugged again, folding his arms. "Well, you've got my attention now."

"…You know that I work at the docks, right?"

"Yes."

"Well…I don't just load bathyspheres and stuff or gut fish."

The doctor tilted his head lightly. The worker sniffed loudly, wiping his eyes.

"…I'm working for Frank Fontaine."

Steinman steadied himself against Ralph's chair. The stevedore instantly stood, letting his lover lower himself down into it. His face was pale. The big worker got down on his knees at his side.

"Six months ago, he gave me a special assignment. I was to get close to you, sleep with you, whatever. I had to do this so you'd be comfortable taking me to parties or stuff like that so I could meet Andrew Ryan. That way, I would be able to get important information on and from him through you."

The surgeon thought about this. Everything made sense. Why he always talked about Ryan when they were first dating, why he asked so many questions, why he was so eager to go to parties and gatherings. His eyes became moist as he found the courage to speak.

"So…so you've been using me? For six months?"

"No, John! No, no…" said Ralph, inching forward and taking a gentle hold of his cheeks. "M-Maybe at first, just so I could do my job and get laid, but…I-I didn't know I was going to fall in love with you. I am in love with you, John Steinman. So very, deeply in love with you."

"Frank Fontaine is my best friend's enemy…" Tears began streaming from the surgeon's eyes.

"John…" Ralph cooed, stroking one of his cheeks. "…He's my enemy now, too. I told him yesterday that I was out. That I wasn't going to continue with this stupid, fucked-up scheme. He didn't take too kindly to that. I'm afraid of what he and his mobsters might do now. I said they could do whatever they wanted to me, as long as they left you alone."

"Why? W-Why would you—"

"I don't regret what I said, John. None of it. I just hope to god nothin' happens to you," he said, hugging his lover.

"Ralph…why would you threaten your boss in such a way? Especially when you know he's a gangster? You've been down this road before."

"He pissed me off. The things he said about me, you, our relationship. About how he wanted me to use you. I couldn't control my temper." He looked back into Steinman's eyes. "John…I love you. I love you more than anyone over or under the ocean, more than life itself. I want to be your partner, your lover, and if it were possible…I'd ask you to marry me."

"…Ralph," John croaked, burying his face into his shoulder.

"John—" he sobbed.

They wept with each other for a very long time. Petunia entered the office, wondering what had ever become of Ralph and if he had gotten to Steinman. She was moved by the sight of the two lovers embracing, their faces wet with mutual tears.

"Dr. Steinman? W-What is all this? What's wrong?" she enquired hurriedly, rushing to their side.

The pair shared a glance; Ralph was the first to speak up. "…I think we should tell her. Petunia's a sweet gal."

"Are you sure?"

The dockhand nodded, wiping his nose on his shoulder. Steinman pushed a box of tissues closer to him on his desk.

"Petunia…I really enjoy working with you. You're an excellent worker, you're kind, and you're very pretty."

"Oh, thank you, Dr. Steinman."

"I really appreciate your work and I'm fortunate to be acquainted with you. However, there's something I need to tell you. Something that might not be very welcome news."

"…Doctor?"

"…I'm homosexual. Big Ralphie here is my lover. We've been together for nearly six months. I love him more than anyone under this ocean. You may think less of me, that we're repulsive, whatever. It doesn't matter, because I love him unconditionally."

The receptionist shrugged her shoulders. "I know."

Both men favoured her with astounded expressions.

"I know you two are mad about each other. I knew it from the moment he exited your office the first day that he had probably asked you out on a date. I've seen you two kissing in the surgery ward before. And I can also um, guess why you occasionally come to the Medical Pavilion with a limp, Doctor."

His face went red as he stared up at Barsetti, who winked at him in return.

"True, I don't think it's normal. You might want to consider speaking with Dr. Brandt, or even Dr. Lamb. I heard she's very—"

"Petunia, please leave," he said flatly, wiping his eyes.

"But I—"

"Please leave," he demanded, teeth gritted.

Without further protest, she left his office.

"I'm so sorry, John. I'm sorry for puttin' you into this mess and causin' you all this trouble."

Steinman patted his hand gently. "…Let's not talk about it anymore. We'll just make ourselves even more upset." He sighed raggedly. "…I have one more appointment this evening. I have to get ready for it. Why don't you go back home or take a walk or something to calm down? We can take care of everything in the evening, okay?"

"Okay. Sorry I had to bust into your surgery, Johnny."

"I suppose it's in the past now. And I didn't injure my patient. It doesn't matter now." He kissed Ralph on the forehead gently. Barsetti stood. He took Steinman into his arms, pressing his lips to his, kissing him passionately.

"Thanks for hearin' me out, Johnny. I'll see you later."

"Good-bye, Ralph." They squeezed each other's hands one last time before Ralph took his leave. "…Be safe…" whispered Steinman as he left.

Barsetti sauntered down the streets, miserable. His eyes were still ringed red from his tears as he walked with his hands jammed into his pockets. He felt both terrified and relieved. Relief in that he had finally told his lover what had been going on, but terror in what was to come next. He'd gotten very close to Fontaine in the last few months, because of his mission, and he knew how he operated. There would be blood, he was sure of it. Whose blood…he didn't care to find out.

Not really paying any attention as to where he was headed, Ralph finally looked up and found that he was passing by the Rapture Security Station. There were technically no established laws in Rapture, but, Ryan took the liberty of installing a security force all the same.

…That was it.

Barsetti thought. All his life, he'd been a criminal one way or another. From a little hoodlum in his youth, to a delinquent when he was a teen, to bona-fide mobster when he was an adult. What could prove he had changed his ways better than becoming a police officer? Finally seeing a bit of a silver-lining, he hurried up the stairs and into the building.

A stout man stood behind the front desk, stamping a few papers. Behind him, Ralph could hear two officers man-handling a hysterical splicer, forcing him into a detention cell as he went on about being innocent of…whatever it was. With a new sense of determination, the worker approached.

"Uh, 'scuse me, sir?"

The officer looked up slowly. His face plainly illustrated that he'd much rather be doing something, anything, else.

"Is the chief in?" Ralph asked, removing his cap.

The man drearily looked over to a fortified door on the right wall. "…Yeah, whaddaya want?"

"I'd like to talk with him, if he's not busy. I wanna join up."

There was a long, uncomfortable pause as the officer stared at Ralph. "…Alright. Hold on." He disappeared behind the door, after punching in a code. Being in the police station brought back a tirade of memories, mostly bad. He had been in with the law so often he'd lost count. He just hoped they didn't have ways of accessing his records from the surface.

"Okay, he can spare a few," the desk officer said, nodding towards the Chief's office as he resumed his work.

"Thank you very much," Ralph said, hurrying inside. A man he guessed to be somewhere in his fifties sat behind a desk, looking over a few leaflets. He started ever so lightly when the dockhand entered.

"Whoa, you're a big boy, aren'tcha?" he said.

"Guess I been told that before," Barsetti said timidly.

"I bet." He tucked the leaflets away, sitting up. "So…Murphy tells me you wanna join up? Haven't heard _that_ in a while."

"Yes, sir."

"Take a seat, then. We'll talk."

Ralph lowered to the chair in front of the desk nervously.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Ralph Barsetti, sir." He offered his hand.

"Nice to meet ya, Ralph. Chief Sullivan. So…gettin' down to business. Why do you wanna join up?"

Ralph averting his eyes. "…I been chased by the police my whole life, back up on the surface. I had to steal to keep my family fed when I was a kid and got into some trouble when I was an adult, again, to help and protect my family. I've changed since then. I'm not a criminal anymore. I figure, what better way to show that than to be a police officer?"

Sullivan nodded. "Sounds like you got quite a record. And we're not technically a police force. More like established security."

"I did have a record. But I did it all with the best intentions…I did everything I did because of my family. I had a little sister, a big brother, and an overworked ma. I loved her more than anything."

"I come from a family of eight, from New York City. My pop had a hard time gettin' a job because he was Irish."

"My pop was Irish, too."

The Chief chuckled lightly. "You don't look like a Mick."

"My ma was Italian. I take after her."

"Ah, that makes sense. You work anywhere now?" Sullivan asked, gesturing with his pen.

"…I used to work as a stevedore down at Port Neptune."

The Chief's expression dropped. "…Oh…you in any contact with a guy named Fontaine? Runs a fishery?"

The hair on the back of Ralph's neck stood up; good thing the Chief couldn't see it. "Well…I'll help out anyone who needs a bathysphere loaded or some fish dressed. I know the place, but, I didn't directly work for Fontaine. I'll do the dirty jobs if it means I'll get paid. I've known dirty work and labour my whole life. I've worked at factories, shipyards, served in the Navy for four years when the war started, was a cab driver for a while, bussed tables at restaurants, you name it."

"So, I take it you don't got any security experience?"

"…No, sir."

"Any firearm experience?"

"I only know what I do…from the mob."

"…You were a gangster."

Barsetti hung his head in shame. "…Yes, sir."

Sullivan laughed sarcastically. "Some of the finest experience. I used to walk the 'Meatball Beat' in Little Italy. I'm familiar with you people."

"Well…I was in the Chicago mob. That's what got me in trouble. I moved to New York after the war."

Sullivan sighed, shaking his head. "I dunno. You gotta lotta heavy stuff under your belt, kid. I don't like this dock business either. Don't sit well with me."

"Well, I-I don't work there anymore."

"I still dunno. I don't think we—"

"Chief? You in?" asked a man in a water-proof uniform, poking his head through the door.

"I'm busy."

"We just caught a john with this," he insisted, setting a briefcase on the desk. Opening it, he revealed three hefty bags of fine white powder: cocaine.

"Whoa…" Sullivan said, standing. He pulled on a pair of rubber gloves which he pulled from a box on top of a filing cabinet. He carefully picked up a bag, examining it like a scientist. "Shit…I can't even begin to imagine what this must be worth."

"I'm er, not a narcotics officer. I couldn't tell ya either. But, I do know that it'll fetch a pretty penny."

Ralph sat up a bit further, staring at the briefcase.

"Any of 'em around?"

"Nah, none here. They're all out. I asked around before I came in."

"Er, excuse me, Chief?"

They both looked down to Ralph. He stood, clearing his throat.

"I uh…I was a drug mule in the mob. It's been a while, but I think I might be able to tell how much it's worth."

The officer sneered at him, looking towards the Chief for agreement. Sullivan shrugged.

"Your guess is better than mine. Get some gloves. Don't need ya gettin' addicted again."

Barsetti stood, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves. "No, no, no. I never done this stuff. Never done _any_ of that shit. That's the first rule of mulein': _Never_ use your own stuff. Besides, I never even had a desire to," he explained, studying the first bag as he held it up.

"You said you worked with this stuff before?"

"Coke, Mary Jane, floor polish…seen it all. Handled it all. I mainly worked with coke and reefer, though," Ralph weighed the second and third bags in his hands, comparing them with the first. Setting his mouth in a firm line, he pulled the gloves off. "Well, it's been a while, but…lookin' at 'em and feelin' 'em…I'd say you got about twenty-six thousand here."

"_Each_?" the officer who brought them in said.

"No, total. If you got a stupid or desperate buyer, you might even talk about thirty-thousand."

Sullivan gave a low whistle as the officer stared in astonishment.

"That's a lotta greenbacks. Where do ya get your figures?"

Ralph shrugged. "Told ya, I worked with coke a lot. In Chicago, it was usually twenty bucks a gram, little over nine-hundred for an ounce, and almost four grand for nine ounces. This stuff ain't cheap."

"And you never did the stuff?"

"Nope, never. I've seen the people who did it. I've seen what all this stuff creates…and I don't like it."

"Then why sell it?"

He shrugged again. "…It was money. And protection. Besides, they wanna ruin their lives? No skin off my teeth."

The Chief stared at Ralph hard. They locked stares for a few uncomfortable moments. Sullivan then placed his cap on, shutting the briefcase.

"You got the man here?"

"Yeah, in the cells."

"I think I'll give him a little talk," he said, making to follow the officer out. Ralph hung his head lightly, placing his cap back on his head. Before exiting, Sullivan caught him.

"Oh, er…Barsetti, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I got somethin' to take care of now. Tell you what…come back in on Saturday, around noon. We'll talk some more."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

The worker grinned, touching the brim of his cap. "Thanks, sir! Thanks a lot!"

"Oh and uh, Barsetti?"

"Yes, sir?"

"…Get yourself a suit. It'll help."

Ralph couldn't sleep.

Sighing listlessly to himself, he looked down at his lover. John was asleep at his side, curled up on his chest. As carefully as he could, he slipped from under the sheets and the sleeping surgeon. Ralph put on his trousers, pulling his suspenders up onto his broad shoulders. He lumbered out of the room and out onto the balcony. Barsetti pulled out a new packet of cigarettes from his pocket. He didn't care what John said…he desperately needed them after the ordeal. Fetching one out, he lit it, inhaling deeply. He placed his arms on top of the cold railing, staring down at the city around them. He hadn't been able to get Fontaine, and the things he'd said to him, out of his mind. He wondered what would become of him. Certainly, he'd lost his job at the docks. Ralph was a proud working-man, however, he could survive as a one-income pair with Steinman, at least until he found another position. Perhaps he could hire-in as a security guard at the Medical Pavilion? True, they had robots for that now, but, Barsetti was very intimidating, not to mention he could help move packages and heavy equipment…

…Then again, the whole thing sounded pretty outrageous. He knew no one would hire him, even for the most dismal jobs. It was one of the reasons why he found employment with Fontaine. He'd talked to Chief Sullivan that day, but, he didn't want get his hopes up. He wanted that position so desperately, though. The worker stared down the length of his cigarette.

"…How come no matter how hard I try, I always fuck things up?" He messaged his temples slowly, closing his eyes. "I'm such a screw-up, a chump. For once, I'd like to do somethin' right. That's why I came down here, but…it's not any better." He looked back out to the ocean. "…I can't believe John's still with me. After all the trouble I've caused him. But I guess I'm grateful and thankful. He's such a great guy. I wouldn't trade him for anything, or anyone, in the world."

He studied his cigarette closely. "…Even if the worst were to happen…even if Fontaine or his mugs were to kill me or whatever…I guess I'd be okay with it. I got to experience love. I finally figured out what it means to love someone…and for them to love you back. I'd never had that before with anyone other than my family. Not with men or women." He felt a few stray tears slide down his cheeks. "…I love you, John." Unable to finish his cigarette, he smashed it into the ashtray, weeping into his large hands.

Ralph spent nearly twenty minutes on the balcony. He was finally able to calm himself down, entering the apartment as quietly as he could. The big man slid back into bed, pulling the sheets over his body. John stirred, opening his eyes with a groan.

"…Ralph? Are you awake?"

"Yeah. I have been. I just went out for a smoke, is all."

Steinman frowned.

"I know, I know. I'm tryin'. I really, really need them to-day."

"…Well…I suppose you have a good reason. Just this pack, though."

"Okay. Thanks. Sorry I woke ya."

"It's okay, love," he smiled, yawning.

Barsetti tapped his shoulder, nodding towards it. John cuddled up close, resting his head on the indicated spot. Ralph wrapped one of his muscular arms around him, pulling him closer. He gently slid his fingers through John's brown hair, nuzzling him.

"…J-John?"

"Yes, Ralph?"

"There's…there's somethin' I want ya to know."

The surgeon opened his eyes once more, staring up at his lover.

"…I really screwed things up this time. There's nothin' I can really say or do that will fix this mess. But, I wanted to let ya know how grateful I am to have ya. How grateful I am that you've stuck by me and you still allow me into your home even though I've done so much shit."

"Ralph…I love you. Right or wrong, I'm supposed to stick by your side. It's what life-partners do. And…you keep forgetting that this is your home, too."

Barsetti felt more tears welling up in his eyes as he hugged the surgeon closer. Steinman nestled into his broad chest.

"Let's not talk about this now, though. Let's just enjoy each other's company."

"You got it, pudding cup."


	19. Phase 19

Phase 19-September, 1958

Snub meandered through the tunnels later in the evening. He'd needed a walk. Between the long shift he had worked that day and the crowded worker's tenant in the Artemis Suites, the spirit got down easily. He kicked a can along the tunnel until it wedged itself by a trash bin. Looking up, he noticed he was just passing the Medical Pavilion. He immediately thought about his friend Ralph. He'd been seeing that plastic surgeon for a good six months, so he was constantly reminded. He was both glad for Ralph and apprehensive about the matter. Barsetti had seemed happier now more than he had ever been in his life, but, he was changing, and Snub wasn't sure if it was for the best. It had been a huge blow when he moved from the Artemis Suites into Steinman's apartment with him.

Then when Barsetti was fired…

The workers had said he was fired, but he knew better. Ralph had quit. It had been about three weeks since Snub had seen his friend. Life without Ralph had sent him into a deep lethargy. He rarely spoke to anyone and, more often than not, picked at his meals. He missed his brutish best friend dearly. Snub really wasn't afraid of anyone in Apollo Square or at the docks, but, Ralph offered comfort with his massive build and relaxed attitude.

_Wouldn't it be funny if he was inside_, thought the worker as he stared at the huge lit sign mounted on the building. Just for fun, and because he had time to kill, he climbed the stairs and entered the pavilion.

The place was empty, save for a youngish lady at the circular reception desk and a man mopping the floors. He approached her slowly; she smiled brightly.

"Good evening!"

"Evenin', miss," he said, removing his cap.

"What can I help with, sir?"

"Can you tell me where Dr. Steinman's place is?"

"Go straight down that hallway behind me, turn a slight right, then an immediate left and the Aesthetic Ideals will be right there," she replied, pointing to the corresponding hallway. "But, it usually closes at seven o'clock."

"…Oh…" he said, looking down at his watch. It was nearly eight.

"Dr. Steinman usually stays later, though, but he'll probably be busy. Would you like me to help set up an appointment?"

"Oh, no, no, I'm not here to make an appointment. I, er…one of my friends is pals with him, and I thought I'd drop by and see if he was here."

"Oh, well, again, right down that hallway."

"Thank you kindly, miss," he smiled, moving on.

It took Snub a few minutes to find the place. He nearly got lost, unable to remember which turn came first, left or right. When he finally stumbled upon it, he felt like a real heel; it was the biggest section of the Medical Pavilion and had the flashiest sign.

Seeing as there was no receptionist's desk in the foyer, and the door to the place was still open, he took it upon himself to enter cautiously. He passed by a room titled "Surgical Savings", which had both of its doors open. A man was leaning up against the desk inside, shooting the breeze with a pretty young nurse. They both smiled brightly as they conversed. Snub had just as well assumed it was a dapper suitor by the way they were interacting. Watching him a little closer, it became more obvious.

The man was _Ralph_.

Snub almost didn't recognise him, he looked so different. Barsetti was dressed up with a black tie and polished shoes, a smart tan suit-coat buttoned over a distended belly. He'd gained a large amount of weight since meeting Steinman. His black hair was slicked back with his usual amount of pomade and his face lacked his distinct stubble. In Snub's eye, he looked every bit like a mob boss. He approached the pair cautiously.

"Snub! What're you doin' down here at this time of night? Didn't get hurt or nothin', did ya?" asked Ralph jovially.

"Nah, nothin' like that. Just thought I'd take a walk, passed by, and thought aboutcha."

"I wonder why," chuckled Ralph.

"I don't know what's taking him so long. I just saw him a moment ago and he was nearly ready!"

"Sounds like someone we know," commented Ralph.

"Are you talking about me, Mr. Barsetti?"

"Oh, c'mon! I've seen you sneak off to the ladies' room to reapply your makeup more than once." He laughed as the nurse struck his shoulder playfully. "Oh! Sheesh, where are my manners? Snub, this is Nurse Hettie. Hettie, this is my good pal Snub."

"Nice to meet ya, miss," the dockhand said with a curt nod, removing his cap.

"You too, Snub."

"We worked at the docks together for a few years."

"Yeah…worked," muttered Snub.

"Well, I should be getting back to work. You never know what sort of whack-jobs are going to come here at night. I have to be ready for anything…" Hettie said rather sensually, sliding around Ralph.

"You'd be the dame for that, Het."

"See you later, Ralph. Nice talking to you."

"The pleasure's all mine, sweetheart."

She winked at him, exiting the "Surgical Savings".

"She wants me. But she doesn't know about me and Steinman."

"Guess that's a good thing. So, er…how've things been, Ralph?"

"Things? Oh, they've been wonderful! I never felt so good in my life! I get three to five square meals a day, an actual place to live in that isn't dirty and decaying, and best of all…I got someone who loves me. Can you believe it? Someone who actually loves me and takes care of me. I never had this all at the same time. It's such a fantastic feeling." Here he sighed, staring up at the ceiling. "…I think things are finally lookin' up for me, Snub. I really think they are."

"…That's great, Ralph. I'm…I'm real glad for you."

"You don't sound so sure, Snub."

"…Okay. I admit it; I'm not in some ways."

"Why?"

"…You're changin', Ralph. You're not the man I met six years ago at the docks. You're different."

"I _feel_ different, Snub. And it feels good. I'm happy. You should be happy _for_ me."

"…I don't know if I can be, Barsetti."

They were silent for a long time, occasionally looking up at one another.

"You know, Fontaine still has a score to settle with you, after you didn't deliver and then walked out on him."

"Why? Because I chose not to partake in his sick little game of usin' an innocent, loving, respectable man? Because I quit a dead-end job and left the shitty Artemis Suites?"

"Ralph, Fontaine is a _gangster_. You and I are both well acquainted with the mob. You and I both know all about revenge and restitution. Things may seem like milk and honey now, but he's not finished with you yet. I don't want anything bad to happen to ya, Ralph. I don't wanna see ya end up in a salt pond…or worse."

The big man narrowed his eyes, becoming more defensive. "…You know somethin', don't you, Snub?"

"What?"

"Did Fontaine send ya down here to grill me? To get information from me?"

"Ralph, don't talk shit."

"You're the one talkin' shit!" He paused, clenching his huge fists. "Wait…I know. You're jealous. You're jealous of me, aren't you?"

"What are you goin' on about, now?"

"A nice place, good food, a handsome lover…you want all that."

Snub sneered. "I'm thankful for what I got! I had all that on the surface and look what it did to me. All it did was leave scars. You can take all this fancy-schmancy, yuppie shit and cram it up your ass! And what's further…I don't like Steinman so much. Yeah, that's right. I don't. I don't trust him. I think he's strange, manipulative, and has a really contorted logic."

Ralph gritted his teeth together, tightening his fists until his knuckles turned white. "…Take—all—that—back."

"…No. I won't—"

Ralph grabbed two handfuls of Snub's jacket, lifting him and slamming him against the wall.

"I'm not gonna sit here and have you insult my lover in his own work place. In his own business! Look at this, Snub! Look what he's built! You're jealous. I don't see _you_ doin' anything like this. All's I see is someone who's gonna spend his entire life guttin' fish!"

Steinman, who had since locked the office up, made his way down the long hall. Ralph immediately released his friend.

"Hello, Ralph! Everything's situated. Ready to go?"

"Yeah, but, uh—"

"Ralph, I'd really like to get home. I haven't eaten since one o'clock."

"Oh, sure thing, dear. I'll deal with you some other time, Snub," threatened the big worker quietly. Snub watched them heading out of the foyer.

"…You're a fucking quack."

Steinman, like most doctors in Rapture, had a sixth sense for criticism. He immediately halted in place, back stiffening lightly.

"…What did you call me?"

"I called you a 'quack'," stated Snub, through gritted teeth. "I know rackets, and you're runnin' the biggest one of 'em all down here. You pump these Johns and Betty's so full of ADAM that they get those disgusting growths and have to come back to you to get 'em removed! This ain't no different from the surface with all their pills the docs give ya! You're doin' the same exact thing, except, instead of a doctor…you're a butcher."

Steinman made a lunge for Snub; Ralph gripped his arms, holding him back. "You lower-class bastard! You parasite! I'll show you the meaning of the word 'facelift'!"

"John, c'mon! Lay off!" Ralph ordered. Holding Steinman back was an easy task, getting him to drop the matter was anything but. He clutched the surgeon to his chest. "Let it go, John. Let it go!"

"Never! Have you ever been in my office?! Do you know how many awards and accolades I've won?! They would've given me a Nobel Prize on the surface!"

"Hm, that's funny. Seein' as you haven't even won a 'Best and Brightest' down here, and you been here since the beginning, haven't ya?"

The surgeon fought against Ralph as hard as he could. He managed to get an arm free, reaching down towards Snub.

"John, it doesn't matter! You know you're better than him! Just. Drop. It."

"Let me go, let me go!" demanded Steinman.

"You better calm down! I'm not lettin' you go until you're not crazy."

The surgeon stopped struggling, trying to catch his breath. The dockhand loosened his grip. Steinman tugged his arms from Ralph's, glaring up at him. Breathing heavily, he smoothed back his hair, picking up his fedora.

"You…you'll pay for this. Soon. Andrew Ryan is one of my best friends. You'll get yours, dockworker! Get out of my business before I let Ralph remove you."

Snub flipped the collar of his jacket up, giving them both a final glare before taking his leave. "…Have your boyfriend buy some more fancy clothes for you, Ralph. You look just like a mob boss!"

Ralph immediately went rigid.

"You'll always be a mobster, Ralph. You _and_ I."

Without a second thought, Snub stormed from the Aesthetic Ideals.

"Good riddance," sniffed John. Straightening his jacket, he looked up at his lover. Barsetti stood motionless, staring at the tunnel entrance. "…Ralph? Are you alright?"

"…No. I'm not."

"Do you—"

"Can we just leave? Please?"

"Yes, of course. Let's go home."

Ralph sat slumped in the armchair, his tie loosened and his eyes glassy. He stared solemnly at the coffee table, turning what Snub had said at the Pavilion over in his head.

_You'll always be a mobster_.

Ralph wasn't a mobster; Ralph never wanted to be a mobster again. While the money was good, he'd suffered too much, at the hands of his "Family", the other gangs, and the law. He rubbed his temples, trying his hardest to put it all out of his head.

"Ralph? How are you doing, big guy?" John said, rounding on the chair.

"…Eh."

The surgeon sat on the edge of the coffee table. He reached out, rubbing one of Ralph's knees.

"What Snub said was true…I'll always be a mobster."

"That's not true, Ralph. You're not a part of any criminal organisation and you never will be again. You've changed, anyone can see that."

"It's no use, John. Now, every time I look in the mirror…I just see my boss. Everythin' he said was true. Once you join the mob, you're in it for life."

"…I know what'll make you feel better…"

Ralph looked up.

"How about a nice bowl of ice cream, hm? And then after, we can cuddle."

"…Wow…the perfect remedy. Thanks, pudding shot," he said with a smile. "Why don't you just bring the whole gallon over?"

"I don't think so," Steinman said. He patted his lover's stomach. "I think you could stand to lose some weight. You'll get what I give you."

"You're just realisin' this now?"

"Well," John said over his shoulder. "I thought you would look cute at first, but I think I'd rather you were healthy."

"Which is a polite way of sayin' 'now you're a fat slob'," chuckled Barsetti to himself. "I don't care, though."

Steinman awoke to the rustling of clothes and movement in the morning. He wearily opened his eyes, propping himself up on one elbow. Ralph was nearly dressed, having just pulled his pants up and his suspenders on his shoulders. Next came the vest, the purple one. He looked nice, nicer than when he dressed for parties or social outings. Barsetti moved over to the dresser, opening his jar of pomade. He noticed his lover stirring in the mirror.

"Oh, did I wake ya, Johnny?"

"Well, it's nearly eleven o'clock. I should get up anyway," he smiled, stretching his arms as he sank back into his pillow.

"Eh, you deserve to sleep-in. You took it like a man last night," chuckled Ralph, slicking his hair back.

"Oh, I don't have any problems accommodating that big, hard piece of manhood you're wielding," giggled the surgeon.

"Damned right you don't," agreed his lover.

"But you're never up this early unless you have to be. Where are you off to?"

"I uh…I actually have an interview. For a job."

Steinman sat up. "Really?! That's wonderful, Ralph! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I guess I kind of wanted it to be a surprise, you know?"

"Who's interviewing you?"

Ralph smiled, running a hand over his hair. "…Chief Sullivan's givin' me my interview."

John gasped in delight. "Ralph! The head of Rapture Security? That's fantastic!"

"Thanks. I uh, I just figured that since I've been run-in with the law so much in my life, I should try to do something to prove that I've changed. I thought this was the perfect thing."

"Oh, Ralph, I'm so proud of you! Come here, you great big oaf!" the surgeon laughed, holding out his arms. Barsetti, despite his dress clothes, settled down on top of him, straddling him gently.

"Ooh, Ralphie," giggled John. "Mm, it's going to be nice to have you in uniform. I've always been partial."

"Aw, I wish I woulda known…I woulda held on to my Navy dress-blues."

"That would've been nice."

They took a precious moment to stare longingly at the other.

"…I really am proud of you, Ralph. You've come a long way in six months. You've been well-domesticated."

The big man shrugged. "I'm okay with it. I kind of like it, actually. I'm just tryin' to find somethin', anything, that'll get me a steady income so I can help you out around here. I want to pull my own weight," Ralph smiled, taking a seat on the bed. "Lord knows there's enough of it," he chuckled. John reached up, touching his face.

"Ralph, how many times do I have to tell you? You don't have to do anything around here except wash your dishes and whip that out for me on the odd occasion," the doctor answered, rubbing his partner's groin.

"But I wanna help you out, John. If you're kind enough to let me live in your apartment with you, the least I can do is pay for my share."

Steinman nestled back into his pillow. "I can't hear youuu…" he said playfully.

"Oh, is that so? Is that so?" Ralph said. He grabbed his lover, tickling him roughly. John laughed wildly, trying his best to squirm from his lover's grasp. He was to no avail; Ralph was too strong for him.

"I got you now, pudding cup. Now what?"

Steinman leaned in, kissing him neatly on the nose. "…That's what."

"Ooh, how's my hair?" Barsetti said, skimming his hand over it lightly.

"It's fine, dear. Hm, all this time spent with me is rubbing off on you."

"I'm okay with it." He hauled his bulk up from the bed, adjusting his vest and shirt. He pulled his black suit-coat onto his shoulders, buttoning it. "Well, how do I look?"

"Like a handsome security guard in his civvies," giggled Steinman.

"I hope so. You were my first recommendation. I only hope it helps. I need all the help I can get."

"If you don't get the position, I'll talk to Andrew. Perhaps he can work something out with Chief Sullivan."

"Thanks, babe, but…I'm gonna try and get this position fair and square. I appreciate it, though."

"Well…best of luck. I know you'll do great."

"Thanks."

Ralph leaned down once more, meeting John halfway in a kiss. "I'll see ya later, pudding cup."

"Good luck, my big honeybear. I love you."

"Love you too."

When he heard the front door shut, Steinman sighed again, sitting up. "Guess I should get ready for work, too."

Dr. Steinman hummed to himself as he filled out a form behind his desk. His office phone rang. The surgeon rolled his eyes.

"Gods, I hope it isn't Lorenzo again…" he muttered picking it up. He did his best to try and hide his frustration. "Dr. Steinman speaking—"

"John! John! John! I got the job, I got the job!" Ralph chanted on the other line.

"Ralph! You did?!"

"Yeah, man, can you believe it?! I start immediately!"

Steinman shrieked giddily. "Oh, Ralph, I'm so excited for you! Oh, I'm so proud of you!"

"Yeah! I'm gonna do a firearms control segment in a moment or two just to see how I do with their weapons, see if I need an extra lesson or somethin'. Bein' in the mob, I hope what I learned there helps me. They've got me on patrols, you know, because I'm a brute, _and _on the Narcotics Unit, because of my position as a mule in the mob."

"That's so wonderful, Ralph. Ooh, I can't wait to tell my friends my lover is a security guard!"

"_And _on the Narcotics Unit. Man, I can't wait to show you my uniform! It's so boss, you're gonna flip!"

"I've always been partial to men in uniform…"

"Then you're gonna love this, pudding cup."

There was a small moment of silence as they both swooned over the other.

"…I'm just so proud of you, Ralph. You're really pulling your life together and I admire that."

"Thanks, Johnny. I'm really tryin'."

"I know you are. And you're doing great. Don't give up."

"I won't. I promise. I guess that's it for me. Gotta get to work. I wish I could talk to you longer."

"Well, we'll have great dinner conversation to-night then."

"What're you making?"

"Well…let's make it special, in honour of your employment. You pick."

"Oh, man…I like everything you make, this is hard." Steinman finished signing the form as he thought for a moment. "Well, I do really, really love your lasagna. I think that's what I want."

"Okay, babe. Are you going to be home late?"

"I'll get off around eight. I'll come over to the Pavilion when I'm done and we can go home together."

"That sounds lovely, Ralph."

"Pick you up then?"

"It's a date."

"Alright, cool. I love you, pudding cup."

"I love you too, honeybear. Congratulations again."

"Thanks, Johnny."

Chief Sullivan looked up as he heard the door to the station open. Barsetti stepped inside, adjusting his new cap with a confident smile.

"Welcome back, big guy. How was your first patrol?"

"Fine, sir. Everything went smoothly."

"Anything to report?"

"None, sir. All's quiet…for the moment."

"I wouldn't give you any trouble if I saw you comin' 'round." He nodded in approval. "You did good your first day, Ralphie."

Ralph's cheeks went pink. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't use 'sir'. Chief'll do," Sullivan said casually. "I think you gotta good future here and we could really use you. I was skeptical, you know, when you said you'd been in the mob and worked the docks, but, I think you put all that past you."

"I have, sir—Chief. I only did it out of desperation, so my family would have money."

Sullivan nodded again. "I respect family-men. I don't have one myself, but, I appreciate men who know where their duties lie. Well, it's eight, you're free to go. See you bright and early to-morrow. Oh, we uh, might need you on a bust in the afternoon. Don't know yet, but, we'll keep you posted."

"I'll be here," nodded Ralph.

"Excellent." The Chief offered his hand, which Ralph shook firmly. "Oh, and, if ever you need me and I'm not in, I set up shop in the upper wharf at Port Neptune. You should be familiar with that."

"I am."

"We've been workin' on interrogations of smugglers workin' for Fontaine. I'm there on the odd occasion."

"Gotcha, Chief. Thanks."

"No, thank _you_."

Officer Barsetti left the station. Nothing in the world could've wiped the grin from his face as he headed out to the Medical Pavilion.

"Good evening, Nurse Hettie!"

She heard her name called with heavy exaggeration. Looking up, she saw a familiar man dressed in a security guard's uniform.

"…Ralph? Is that you?"

"Sure is!"

"Wow! Don't you look handsome?"

"Why thank you, my dear!" he smiled, sidling up to her. "I got a job down at the police station! I'm workin' as a patrolman and I'm also on the Narcotics Unit."

"Well! Aren't we special? Congratulations, Ralph! I know you'll do well; you're very tough and intimidating. Mm, I mean that in a good way."

The surgeon appeared at the doorway of his office. He stopped in his tracks, smiling as he listened to the exchange between his lover and the nurse.

"Man, it feels so good! _I_ feel so good. I haven't felt this good in…ever." He sat on top of the desk, crossing his arms over his barrel-chest. "I've had a rough time ever since I was a kid. Nothin' ever seemed to be goin' my way. I finally have my life together; I've got a job, I've got a place to stay …it's great. Everything's great."

Hettie smiled, rather seductively. "I love a man with priorities." She sidled a bit closer. "You know, I've been meaning to ask you, Mr. Barsetti…"

He was wary of ever move she made and the look she was giving him.

"…You wouldn't happen to have a…lady friend…would you?"

"I'm in a very happy relationship."

"…You are? Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"…Oh…" Putting on an air of disgust to mask her disappointment, she glided around him and out of the hallway.

"Dames," Ralph rolled his eyes.

"Nurse Hettie. I've to see a male client she _hasn't_ put the moves on," chuckled Steinman, making his approach. "By the gods…Ralph! Look at you! Look at how handsome you are!" the doctor exclaimed. He reached up, running his hands down his chest. "Ooh, you wear this uniform so well!"

"Think so?"

"Know so. I'm so proud of you!"

"…I wish my ma could see me," Ralph smiled. "I wish I could show her her boy's not a loser after all."

"…I'm sure she'd be very proud of you, Ralph. You've done her well." He smeared away a single tear that slid from his lover's eye. John threw his arms around Barsetti's neck. Ralph hugged him tightly, lifting him off the ground. After a good squeeze, he released him, leaning down for a kiss. Steinman caught him, though.

"Ah-ah-ah, Ralph—not here," he said.

"If any docs come around, I'll—"

"No. Remember what happened last time? With Grossman? Not here. Let me go get my things and we'll be ready to go home," he said, patting one of Ralph's cheeks.

"I'll be here, pudding cup."

Steinman was out in only a few minutes, dusting off his shoulders.

"Ready, _Officer _Barsetti?" he said.

"You bet, Dr. Steinman." Wrapping one arm around him, he made for the exit with his partner.

"I dunno. I think I kinda like bein' fat. I can eat more," Ralph commented scraping the remnants of lasagna off of the pan with his fork.

"Are you finished?" John asked, reaching for it.

"Oh, wait, wait!" Ralph said, bringing the last forkful to his mouth. "Okay, now you can take it." John leaned down, kissing him on the forehead before setting the pan in the sink. "Was it good, honey?"

"Like always," he sighed. "But it tasted a little…different…to-night."

"Good different or bad different?"

"Well, it certainly wasn't bad, so I guess good different. You add somethin' to it?"

"Nope."

"Hm…" Ralph looked a bit thoughtful as he stared down at the table. "You take somethin' away?"

"…Getting warmer."

"Well, what?"

Steinman smiled slyly, retaking his seat opposite Ralph. "…I didn't put any meat in it!"

Barsetti stared hard at him, looking like he'd just swallowed something poisonous.

"It was a vegetarian lasagna!"

"…So you mean to say there was absolutely no meat in it whatsoever?"

"None! All vegetables and cheese. And you ate half a pan, you good boy," he giggled, patting one of Ralph's hands. The guard didn't offer a reply, staring down at the table, trying to figure out how a dish without meat could taste so good. "We're going to make this a regular thing. I'm going to make more vegetarian dishes to help you shed a few pounds."

"Aw, you don't like chubby Ralphie?"

"I like fit and healthy Ralphie better."

"…No more meat?"

"Sparingly, and only until you lose some weight. I'll do it with you. I like vegetarian meals."

Barsetti shifted uncomfortably, grimacing lightly. "I dunno if I'm gonna like this."

"Are you doubting my abilities as a chef?"

"No, no! Not in the least. I just…I dunno."

John held one of his hands fondly. "Don't worry, Ralphie. You'll like it, I promise. I'll make them appealing to you."

"I hope."

He felt his lover give his monstrous hand a loving squeeze. Turning his attention back to him, Ralph smiled. He studied his brown irises, the reflected flames from the two taper candles flickering against them. The lights had been dimmed romantically for the meal and were allowed to stay that way. The record player softly crooned their song…"If I Didn't Care". The lovers sat staring at one another longingly, their fingers locked in a tight hand-hold. Neither man spoke for the longest time.

"…John?"

"Yes, Ralph…"

"…I love you."

"I love you more, honeybear."

"Uh, I don't think so. I love you more."

"No, you."

"…No, you…" sighed Ralph, smiling dreamily at his lover. He gently stroked the side of Steinman's hand with his thumb. John squeezed his big hand in return.

"…You did it, Ralph."

"Did what, pudding cup?"

"Look at you. You've got a great job; you're an officer in Ryan's security force. You're not belligerent and crude. You're polite and kind to nearly everyone you meet. You get invited, along with me, to high-class social events. And you don't use that infernal 'ain't; anymore when you talk."

"Yeah, I uh…I guess you're right, Johnny," he said, blushing. "…Not to mention, I've got a wonderful, supportive, sexy lover to come home to each night. I'm the luckiest guy under the ocean, no…on the planet."

"Oh, you…" giggled the surgeon, blushing.

"And don't even try to tell me I'm wrong, because I'm not." Ralph paused for a moment before he furthered. "…I love you, John Steinman. I wanna be with you…if not forever…then for as long as I can. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Oh, Ralph…" Steinman croaked. "You're going to get me all misty-eyed."

"Why, cookie?"

"…Because I feel the same way about you."

"Really?"

Steinman nodded, wiping one of his eyes. Ralph reached into a pocket. With one of his handkerchiefs, he reached out and wiped the tears from the surgeon's eyes.

"I can't believe I was ever afraid of you, and that I rejected you the first night."

"…Don't think about that now, Johnny. Just think about how we're together now, and happier than we could ever be." Ralph tucked the handkerchief away as Steinman pulled off his eyeglasses, wiping the lenses on his shirttails. He stood, taking his and Ralph's plates to the sink. "…What do you say to relocating to the bedroom, hm?"

"You had to ask? Maybe I can work-off some of that meal."

Ralph hoisted his bulk up from the table, taking his lover's hand and nuzzling him. John gently picked the needle up off of the record as they passed.

Once they were inside their room, they immediately held each other tightly. Their lips pressed against the other's softly, at first. John stood up on his toes to reach Ralph, wrapping his arms around his neck. The big man slowly backed his lover up to the foot of the bed, forcing him back down upon the mattress. Hovering over him on his hands and knees, he bent down, running the fingers of one hand through John's silky hair.

"Ralph…Ralph…" John whispered, breaking. He unbuttoned his vest and shirt, pushing them aside. Barsetti's lips traveled further along his partner's body; down his neck, over his collarbone, down to his chest. John sat up, getting comfortable in Ralph's lap. He reached down, rubbing the bigger man's strong pectorals. Barsetti leaned down, running his tongue around Steinman's ear. The surgeon twitched, immediately removing himself.

"Ugh! What are you _doing_?!"

"Um…pleasurin' you?"

"Well, you're not doing a good job of it. Ugh," he wiped his ear off, his face pulled into a disgusted sneer.

"You're not into lickin'?"

"Never! God, Richard used to do that to make me mad, because he knew it digusted me. I have no desire to have…damn, that's the worst feeling!"

"Well…sorry. I didn't know."

"No, no you didn't, I should have told you." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "…Look. I-I'm going to put my pyjamas on. Any lust I had is gone."

Ralph looked guilty as he watched John undress. The big Italian stripped down to his undershirt and undergarments, slipping under the covers. "…I-I'm sorry, Johnny."

Steinman waved him off, without turning to face him.

"…You wanted to see me, Chief?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did. Come on in, Barsetti. Make yourself at home."

Ralph sat down near Sullivan's desk, removing his cap.

"There's somethin' I wanted to talk to you about, Ralphie."

"Did I do somethin' wrong, sir?" he enquired timidly.

"Did I say you did somethin' wrong?"

"Well, no."

"You're not in trouble, kid, don't worry." A beat, Sullivan leaning back in his chair. "Look, I'm fortunate to have you on the force, Barsetti. I really am. I think you're going to be an asset and we could really use you."

"Wow…thanks, Chief!"

"Which brings me to why I actually called you in here."

Ralph's face lost its eagerness once more.

"I want to hang on to you as long as I can, kiddo. Stoppin' criminals down here isn't the same as it is on the surface. It's harder, much harder…trust me. Which is why I recommend this to all my men." Sullivan set a stoud bottle filled with iridescent blue liquid on the desktop. At first, Ralph thought it was a plasmid, but, then he remembered that they came in red bottles, not blue. EVE hypos were filled with blue liquid, though, but a deeper hue.

"…W-What is that?"

"Gene tonic. Armoured Shell. Supposed to suppress piercing and bludgeon damage by at least fifteen percent. All my men have taken it. Sorta give ya an insight as to what you're gettin' yourself into."

"I knew all that when I signed up."

The Chief shrugged. "I don't have any control over your personal life and I can't order you to take it, but, I'm givin' it to ya free of charge and I highly recommend it. Especially with what we've got goin' on around here."

Officer Barsetti picked up the bottle studying it hard.

"That's all I needed, kid. You're free to go, you gotta duty."

"…Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." With a curt nod, Ralph rose and left the Chief's office, still staring down at the ominous bottle.

After his shift, Ralph sat on his bed, clutching the bottle in one of his huge hands once again. He couldn't make up his mind. He'd never trusted plasmids, tonics, or anything else that involved genetic alteration and mutation. Snub had always warned him of the dangers. Then again, Snub used to be his friend. Ralph had a lot of respect for Chief Sullivan and he was willing to bet that he knew what he was talking about. He said all of his men had taken it; they were around to tell the tale. Barsetti decided on waiting until the morning; perhaps he could ask a few of the other officers, just to know what it was like, what would happen, and just what he would be getting himself into. Sighing, he perked up as he heard the door opening and the jingling of Steinman's keys. Quickly sticking it in his side-table drawer, he exited the room to greet him.


	20. Phase 20

Phase 20-September, 1958

Officer Barsetti entered the security station just a few minutes before his shift was scheduled to begin. The smile was wiped clear from his face when the door slid back. Dozens of guards were packing on incredible arsenals, loading weapons, and injecting EVE for their plasmids.

"Whoa, what's goin' on here?" he enquired of anyone who was willing to answer.

"We gotta lead on—"

"I'll take it from here, Sloan," Chief Sullivan said, stepping forward. "We gotta lead on where Fontaine might be. After a few…talks…with some mugs we think are workin' for him, it's been said that he's been sendin' his men down to the freezers and the pubs to store contraband. We don't know if he'll be there or in the whole of the port at all, so we're searchin' every dock and every bathysphere. We're staging somethin' of an ambush. Gonna put that rat out of his misery once in for all."

"You need me, sir?"

"I need all the help I can get. Go pick out somethin' pretty from the back room and saddle up. We're headin' down to Port Neptune and the wharfs at 0900. Gives ya thirty minutes to pack 'em."

Barsetti set his mouth in a tight line. "You got it, Chief."

The officer chose for himself a double-barreled shotgun and a shiny machine gun. Thanks to his mob status, he knew how to use one, and decently well. He kept his issued pistol on his hip, though, like always. He rarely left home without it.

"This is gonna be so sweet…" he muttered, pumping shells into the barrel of the shotgun. "…I'm gonna be the one to whack this motherfucker. After all he's put me through." Cocking the barrel, he slung it over his shoulder and went wordlessly back into the station to regroup with the other guards.

The first bathysphere-load of guards docked at Port Neptune, Barsetti among them. Sullivan ordered the sharpest shooters and the biggest guards up front. He stepped out heroically, bringing his shotgun around.

"Barsetti, you and Mahoney know the docks the best. I want you both on point," Sullivan rapped out orders as the second bathysphere docked. Both men stepped out front, weapons at the ready. "I want this entire place covered from top to bottom. Scour every area until we find Fontaine. We're not leavin' without his head on a platter."

"Shoulda brought the fine china," Mahoney said under his breath. This made Ralph smile and a few others chuckle. Mahoney was the token wise-guy of the squad.

"Z'at the last of 'em? Alright, spread out. Get to work," Sullivan ordered.

Officer Barsetti felt only a fraction of fear, familiarity his dominating emotion. He'd sneaked through warehouses, docks, and complexes so many times in the Mafia, he'd need all of his fellow officer's hands to count on. He also knew Port Neptune inside and out, having worked it for six years. He kept his back to the wall, the barrel of his weapon raised.

As they stepped out onto the platform before Fontaine Fisheries, they found dockhands, stevedores, and fish cleaners all busy with their own devices. All of them stopped their duties, eyeing the masses of security guards. Ralph saw Snub among them, dressed in his yellow vinyl apron and gloves, cleaning large fish hanging from sturdy hooks. A murmur of voices rose up from the various docks. Sullivan posted a group of officers outside the fishery to watch the workers. Snub averted his eyes as soon as they met Ralph's. Barsetti watched him until he had passed into the fishery.

Both officers on point split up, Mahoney covering the lower and upper wharfs while Barsetti led a team through Fontaine Fisheries. Backs pressed to walls or other guards, they made their way steadily through the fishery. A number of workers employed by Fontaine were there, staging something of a resistance, but it was razed easily in the wake of the patrolling guards.

Officer Barsetti and his team searched through the whole fishery complex, but couldn't locate the elusive Fontaine. Even his office was empty, with neither capos, bodyguards, nor workers. He couldn't blame him, though. Fontaine hadn't used his actual office in months even prior to his mission with Steinman. Ralph heard the radio on his shoulder crackling.

"Barsetti. Go ahead—" he replied.

"You find Fontaine, yet?" Sullivan's voice came over the freq.

"Negative. We searched all through Fontaine Fisheries, even his office. He's not here."

"We're searching the upper wharf now. Had a few confrontations, but nothin' too serious. How about you?"

"Same here. Couple workers ambushed us in a few spots, nothin' too bad. Guys got fixed with the health stations. Schwartz is gonna need a patch-up probably at the Medical Pavilion when this thing's over."

"Can he move?"

"Yeah, it's a shoulder-shot. Can still use his arm, but I don't want him to push it."

"Alright. Meet us down at the lower wharf, Barsetti."

"Roger, Chief."

As soon as he got off with Sullivan, another guard hollered out.

"Yo, Barsetti! Check it out!"

Ralph and the others surrounded their squadmate. He dragged a rail-thin worker out a small crawl space, pushing him down on a wooden crate. It was stamped with the red handprint used by Fontaine's smuggling ring. The oversized waders he was clad in emphasised his skinny build. Barsetti strode up to the smuggler, shouldering his weapon.

"Give 'em ta me. _I'll_ make 'im talk," chuckled a different guard. Pulling off one of his gloves revealed bees emerging from large, comb-like patches on his palm and wrist.

"Let Barsetti do it! He's done this sort of stuff before and torture ain't been workin' so good," an older guard replied.

Ralph gripped the front of the smuggler's waders, hoisting him up from the ground.

"Where's Fontaine? There's only one answer and it better be right."

"I ain't tellin' you nothin', traitor! I heard all about you, all of us have! You're not wanted 'round here, Barsetti!" snapped the man.

Ralph slammed him down on top of a crate, smashing the lid. He hovered over him. "…That was a double-negative, so you_ are_ gonna tell us where Fontaine is." He jerked the man back to his feet, rearing back and throwing him a punch to the jaw. Two teeth popped clear out, clattering to the wooden floorboards. The guards chuckled in approval.

"Good enough for ya?"

The smuggler spat blood at Barsetti, staining the front of his uniform. The big guard punched him once more, this time going for the nose. Sanguine ichor streamed from both nostrils as he made a series of sniffling, squeaking noises. His eyes watered. More approval arose from the guards.

"Still won't talk?"

The man stood firm, shaking his head. Barsetti looked over to the conveyour belt by the lower level of the freezer. As a grim smile played out across his face, he dragged the smuggler over to it. He slammed his fist on the button and it groaned to life. Gears clanked and whirred as the conveyour ran down the line. Officer Barsetti bent the smuggler over it, pressing the side of his face down to the belt. The rough material scraped against his cheek as it forced itself to move along underneath his weight. His face burned, like sandpaper of impossible strength was being rubbed against it. He hollered out loud through the burning and scraping.

"Tell us where Fontaine is, or I'll let you go! You won't talk, you're no use to us!" shouted the guard. The man's eyes widened…he knew exactly where this particular belt led to.

"A-Alright, alright! I'll tell ya, I'll tell ya! Get me off this fuckin' thing! Get me off this fuckin' thing, get me off this fuckin' thing!" he blathered through copious tears. Ralph pulled him off right quick, pushing him to the floor. With a boot on is neck, he stared down at his victim.

"Tell us, then."

"Alright…h-he's at the Fightin' Mac's. He's in one of the rooms. Came to supervise some crates personally. The door code is 0313."

"One of you write that down," Barsetti barked to the others. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

The man didn't offer a reply, the same look of misery plastered on his bloody, scratched face.

"What d'we do with this one, Barsetti?" questioned another guard.

"…Schwartz, take him back to the lower wharf with the first squad. I don't wanna risk you gettin' more hurt than you already are. We're gonna head out to Fighting Mac's. I'm callin' the Chief right now," the big guard ordered, pulling his radio closer.

Barsetti's team met up with Sullivan just outside of the pub. They'd lost one of their men to a particularly aggressive fire-fight. As they had moved further and further towards Fighting McDonagh's, the opposition grew. Apparently, someone was on to their operation. They grouped around the front doors, awaiting Sullivan's signal.

"Alright. There's bound to be tons of Fontaine's men inside. Smugglers, bandits, splicers, leperachauns, Christ knows what. If there are any health stations, get to those first and guard 'em or destroy 'em. I want the best shots up front. Mahoney, Billingsly, Chadwick, you're all on point. Barsetti? You know how to use that thing?" Sullivan asked, nodding towards the machine gun he held.

"The only two things the mob did right for me."

"Fine. Clean up behind these three."

"Gotcha."

"On three. One…two…three!"

Mahoney, Sullivan, and Barsetti kicked through the door, it pulling feebly away on its belt as the guards smashed through. Everything seemed to happen at once. The guards opened fire, so did the bodyguards inside. Ralph stormed inside behind the men on point and had unloaded half a round of ammo, when he was suddenly struck by something worse than an enemy bullet. He was plunged back into the memory of Normandy beach, when he had been washed up amidst the D-Day invasion. The scene was not unlike what he had witnessed during the war. He froze in place.

"Barsetti! What're ya doin'?! Getcher ass in gear!" Sullivan shouted, ducking behind a support beam and reloading his pistol.

The big Italian felt a series of stings as the fire from an enemy pistol grazed his right bicep and his side. Ignoring the pain, he reloaded his weapon and dove behind another beam. He panted, trying to put the unpleasant memories out of his head. Bullets pinged past him, chipping at the wood of the support pillar. He covered his ears, shutting his eyes. All he saw were the red strands of beach and the bodies. Tearing at his face, he opened his eyes. They weren't safe closed or open. He thought of Steinman. Nothing sexual, nothing enticing, just him sitting behind his desk, on a normal day in the Ideals. Looking down at the spreading red patches on his sleeve and side, he ground his teeth together. He had to do this. For Sullivan, for himself, for Steinman…for Ryan. Growling, he emerged from his cover. Ralph sprinted across the room in a mad fury. He grabbed one splicer, snapping his neck under one arm. He swept another away with one of his powerful arms, leaving him to his fate at the barrel of another officer. He stomped on a worker's arm at the elbow, breaking it as he reached for a smoking gun lying on the floor. Ralph tore up the stairs, ignoring the fire from a turret just below him that had been hacked by the bandits. Shooting another splicer point-blank with the pistol he jerked from his hip-holster, he came to a door with a code-lock. He slid the numbers 0-3-1-3 in, but it wouldn't yield. Throwing his weight against it, it still didn't budge.

"Barsetti! Over here!" An officer waved him to another door. He stood over a burly corpse bleeding at his feet. That was obviously their room. Ralph slid the code in again and this time, it opened. The room was dark, the only light filtering in from the sea outside and the rest of the city.

"FONTAINE! COME OUT, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" bellowed the big guard. He tore around the room in the darkness, flipping furniture and breaking glass and other wares. "I SAID COME OUT!" He heard grunts and groans to his right. He could faintly see the outline of the other officer as he wrestled furiously with another body. The heavy sound of something hard and metal striking flesh echoed in the room, followed by a groan as his fellow guard hit the floor. He could see a pipe wrench pulling back, ready for a second strike. Ralph grabbed it, feeling downwards for an arm. He twisted, it replying with a sickening crack, the wrench plummeting to the floor. Grabbing the assailant's face, he pressed his pistol against a temple, the bald head shining in the dim light. Ralph unloaded the whole clip, just to be sure. Blood and skull fragments showered the floorboards. The body went limp in his arm.

"YEAH! YEAH! YEAH!" he screamed victoriously. Bustling the body out of the room, he threw it down the staircase. "FUCK YOU, FRANK FONTAINE! FUCK YOU!"

The surviving officers crept up to the prone, bleeding form. Sullivan pushed his way through, inspecting the corpse carefully.

"…Who got him? Who was it?"

"I think Barsetti, sir," Mahoney said, pointing up the stairs. Ralph had disappeared, but returned with the unconscious officer slung over a shoulder. The security guards cheered and hollered, offering congrats to each other and Officer Barsetti, the man of the hour.

"Barsetti, you did it? You got him?" the Chief enquired.

"Yeah, I guess. But he got Churchill with a wrench or somethin'. He needs to get to medical."

"Absolutely. Where's Schwartz?"

"I sent him back with the first group on the lower wharf. I didn't want him to continue with his shoulder like that."

"…Excellent thinkin', Barsetti. You don't look too good yourself. Damn, your arm's wrecked! Get yourself on over to the Medical Pavilion with the others, we'll celebrate later. And Barsetti…" he grabbed his shoulder, delaying his exit by a few more seconds. "…Come down to the station if you're okay later, or to-morrow, if you have to. You and I have a lot to discuss." This was perhaps the first time the officer saw the Chief genuinely smile. Sullivan was usually a stone-faced character. He knew he'd done something right.

"You got it. I'm good friends with Dr. Steinman. I'll take Churchill and Schwartz over there now." He took a brief moment to stare down at the former con-man. He spit upon the body, moving on. "Fuck you…" he muttered as he left the bar with his wounded comrade in his arms. He pondered, though, as he left his comrades to outline the body, take photographs, and start the huge process of filing reports. Even though the con-artist was dead and missing half of his head, Ralph couldn't help but think he looked…different. It had only been a few weeks since he had last seen him in person. This face and head looked somehow…different. It was also too easy, as well. The whole operation and the killing seemed way too lax, way too unorganised, way too obvious. He knew Fontaine and how he operated. He knew that the man's security was always heavy, even when one was called into his office, they weren't escourted without at least two hefty guards, and at least one always used plasmids. And why would he be at Fighting McDonaghs? The place was literally kitty-corner to the fisheries. The matter didn't sit right with Barsetti and he grew less and less thrilled with the operation with each passing thought.

Out on the lower wharf, the first squad had the dockworkers all lined up, hands on their heads. They frisked each man, receiving general insubordination and insults from the hearty, tiresome workers, Snub among them. Ralph knew all of the men personally. They had all worked the same wharf for years; none of them were criminals or bandits. They were just roughnecks who needed a job that didn't require any real skill, besides pushing, pulling, lifting, and slicing. He set the unconscious Churchill down for a moment, relieving his back and injured arm, rounding on the line of workers.

"Hey, Barsetti! You get Fontaine?" asked one of the guards eagerly.

"Yeah, we did. What are you doin' with these guys here?"

"Orders, Barsetti. No man leaves Port Neptune without bein' searched. Then we're taken 'em all back to headquarters to be interrogated and then down to Apollo Square. Got some nice new…lodgings…for 'em."

"No, no, no. I know all these men personally. When I was a stevedore, we worked the same dock. Half of these men don't even work for Fontaine. These two right here are from McCracken's Crabs."

"Told ya," sassed one of the men.

"You sure, Barsetti?" one of the guards conducting the frisk asked, suspicion in his voice.

"Yeah, I'm sure. You know which side I'm on, I got the uniform on. These men are clear, I know it."

Snub still wouldn't look him in the eye as he stood in line.

"What about this one?" the officer continued to challenge, sticking his hands in the pockets of Snub's jacket.

"Leave him alone!" snapped Ralph. The guard retracted his hands, staring at his comrade in disbelief. "…He's clean."

Snub stared up into Ralph's eyes for the first time in a month. He didn't smile; he didn't say anything.

"…You can let these men go. Sullivan and the rest will be done in a bit. I gotta get to medical." Ralph continued on, picking Churchill back up. He was beginning to feel the effects of the blood loss slowly but surely.

The receptionist at the front desk of the Pavilion was a bit shocked when Officer Barsetti entered. His right sleeve was stained with blood, as was most of his side, Officer Churchill had a horrible gash on his head from where he was struck with the wrench, and Schwartz was squeezing his shoulder, in which the steel slug was still buried.

"'Scuse me, Miss? We need a doctor…or two…or three," Ralph said, slurring his words slightly.

"Absolutely!" She hit the intercome immediately. "Calling Dr. Finneran, Dr. Grossman, and Dr. Dorfman! Calling Dr. Finneran, Grossman, and Dorfman! Report to the Kure-All immediately!"

Moments later, a gaggle of nurses wheeled in a gurney, immediately followed by two more once they saw there was more than one patient. Schwartz went easily, making himself comfortable. Barsetti wouldn't have any of it, though.

"I don't need one. I'm fine," he said, holding out a hand.

"Sir, you're injured. You've lost a lot of blood. Please, come with us."

"No, no, I-I'm good, see?" Ralph said, offering his arm. "Just a few nicks. I'll be good." He headed down the forward tunnel, towards the Aesthetic Ideals.

"Give him a sedative, give him a sedative!" Dr. Grossman suggested hungrily, rubbing his gloved hands together. "I've been waiting for something like this all day!"

"He'll be back, Doctor. Don't worry. In his condition, I'll give him about five minutes before he passes out," replied a nurse.

Officer Barsetti made his way, slowly, to Dr. Steinman's. He began to feel a bit dizzy, stumbling once or twice down the tunnels. He managed to get to the Ideals in due time, though. He peered behind the door to Surgical Savings, where Petunia was typing furiously.

"We did it, Miss! We did it!" he hollered, moving on towards the surgery ward.

"…Ralph?" the receptionist said, getting up from her desk. She heard his voice ringing through the hall. "Ralph? Where are you—" She screamed as he turned around, allowing her full-view of his wounded arm.

"Aaahhh…" he mimicked with a chuckle, teetering dangerously on both legs.

"Oh my god, Ralph! What happened to you?!"

"We got him, Petunia…"

"Here, please, sit down, I'll call for a stretcher!"

"Eh, I'm fine. They got two other guys to deal with…"

No, Ralph, Ralph! Sit down, I'm serious!" She pulled up a stray wheelchair, trying to force him down. By now, Dr. Steinman had emerged from his office, looking slightly peeved.

"Petunia? What's with all the racket out here? I'm with a client—" he stood frozen for a moment as he saw his tall lover swaying dangerously.

"Ralph? What are you doing here? What's the matter?"

"You don't sound too happy to see me…"

"Dear gods! What happened to your arm?!"

"We got him, Johnny. We got Fontaaaine…" Ralph then collapsed, Steinman half-catching him, almost brought down from his weight. He struggled to hold him up.

"Petunia! Quick! Call the nurses in here! Before he goes into shock!"

Ralph woke up some time later. He hadn't any recollection of what had happened; all he knew was he was on a gurney, a doctor was checking something off to his right, and Steinman hung feverishly over him to his left.

"Sylvester! He's coming around! Oh, thank the gods! Oh, god…" Steinman said, throwing himself on top of Ralph's chest dramatically.

"Told you he'd be fine, John. He's in good hands," the kind, warm voice of Dr. Finneran assured him as he loaded a syringe. He placed it down on a tray, standing by Ralph's side. "How ya doin', kiddo? You lost a lotta blood there. I can't believe you were going as long as you were."

"…Huh? W-Wha's goin' on?" Barsetti murmured.

"Do you feel any pain a'tall?"

"…N-No."

"Any dizziness? Nausea? Blurred vision? Double-vision?"

"Nah, none a' that."

"Do you feel excessively cold at all?"

"Nah. Hey, um, ya got any water 'round here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Actually…you got any beer?"

Both doctors laughed out loud. "Oh, he's just fine, John. Don't worry," Finneran said.

"Apparently! You don't remember anything, Ralph?"

"…No. No, not really. I-I remember we were down at the wharf and…" he sat up a bit more. "…Fontaine! We got Fontaine! I-I got Fontaine."

Steinman gasped, Finneran immediately looked over, spilling the water he was pouring.

"Oh, Ralph! Congratulations! Oh, my hero!" the surgeon said, hugging him tightly around the neck.

"Okay, okay, don't get too rowdy now," said the physician, offering Ralph a cup of water. "You, lay down s'more. You're not quite ready yet." Steinman stroked one of his huge hands, smiling kindly.

"…Ryan's going to be so pleased with you, Ralph. They've been after Fontaine for months! You're going to be quite the hero, I'd imagine."

"Congrats, kiddo," the doctor smiled. He peeled what looked like two pot holders from his arm. They were stained with blood. The brute heard him say "there we go" softly as he removed them. Finneran then cleaned his arm off with a chemical-smelling solution and a clean cloth. The physician winked at him when he was finished.

"Oh, your arm looks so much better!" Steinman commented.

"ADAM…it's a wonderful thing," chuckled Finneran airily. Ralph sipped his water, still holding Steinman's hand.

"More of this ADAM stuff?" said the officer.

"It regenerates any wounded flesh with stem versions of the dead cells," answered Steinman. "One dose sealed those bullet wounds right up."

"You're a trooper, Officer Barsetti. Anything for the boys in drab," Finneran said, looking down at his watch. "Well, I've got to go check on the other officers. I don't entirely trust Grossman. He seemed a little too eager with the officer who had the slug in his shoulder. If you need anything a'tall or if you start feeling poorly, give me a call, alright?"

"Sure. Thanks, Doc."

"Can he get up or walk around or anything, Sylvester?" John asked.

"…Yes. He should be able to do just about anything, now. He might feel a little light-headed, but it'll pass in only a moment or two. He'll be completely back to normal in an hour or less."

"Alright, thanks, Sylvester." Steinman offered his hand to Ralph, helping him up from the gurney. "Are you steady, Ralph?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Ugh, I wanna sleep, though. And not from passin' out."

"I have an idea. Why don't we set you up a little place in the lounge at the Ideals, eh? You can rest-up and then I'll walk you home. Sound good?"

"Sure. I could use a glass of Merlot."

"No, no, no, no alcohol until an hour after a shot of ADAM!" Finneran said sternly, tapping Ralph's broad chest in succession with his words.

"Oh, come now! That's a myth! You're fine, Ralphie."

"I'm warning you, John—"

"Sylvester, I use ADAM myself. I've never had a problem with alcohol after taking it."

"John, I'm telling you, it'll double the mental side-effects over time. Don't chance it."

"Whatever you say, Finneran. Thank you," he said over his shoulder as he took Ralph's arm, walking him out of the office.

"…Take care, gentlemen."

The tunnel to the Ideal's lounge was directly across from the Kure-All, so it didn't take them long to arrive. Steinman took a cushion from a chair, propping it up for his partner as a makeshift pillow. Ralph settled down with a contented groan, the doctor taking a seat as well next to the guard, skirting his waist on the sofa.

"How're you feeling, Ralphie?"

He shrugged. "Fine. No pain, no nothin'."

"…I'm so thankful for ADAM, for our technology, Rapture, Ryan…all of this!" He hugged Barsetti's huge chest once more, nuzzling down into his uniform.

"Okay, okay, stop bein' such a drama-queen," the guard chuckled.

As the surgeon looked up, Ralph saw a tear escape from one of his eyes. "…I-I know we have such wonderful technology and medicine down here, but…I still worry about you. I worry when you go to work every day. And I had no idea you were going on a raid."

"Funny thing…neither did I. I was all ready to just walk a beat to-day or somethin', and a buncha guys were there. Sullivan said we were goin' down to the wharf to get Fontaine."

"And you did, Ralphie! You did…"

"Heh, what are the tears for, Johnny?"

"…I just love you, Ralph. You truly are my hero."

The surgeon squeezed him in an impressively tight hug.

"I love you too, Johnny-boy. And thanks."

"You're welcome. Do you need anything else while I'm here? That glass of wine you wanted?"

"Nah, I changed my mind. The Chief said for me to come down to the station later. Maybe we're all goin' out for drinks or somethin'. I'll save myself for when I get plastered later."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm good. You gotta lotta appointments?"

"I have to do some work on a man's chin, I've another consultation after, and then a growth removal. I should probably been finished around six."

"Gotcha."

"Well, okay then. You rest-up, now. If you need anything at all, please let Petunia or one of the nurses know, okay?"

"Yeah, I will."

They kissed tenderly on the lips. Steinman patted his lover's stomach gently. "See you later, honeybear."

Ralph watched him depart, placing one of his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. After the whole ordeal, he'd made up his mind: he was going to take that gene tonic Sullivan had recommended.

The surgeon was true to his word. He found Ralph awake in the lounge, talking with Petunia. He'd relayed the whole story about the raid on Port Neptune earlier that day. She listened to him intently, watching him with an awed stare. Ralph stopped mid-sentence, grinning as he got up to meet Steinman. They embraced tightly.

"Hey, pumpkin! Is Petunia keeping you company?"

"Yeah, I was tellin' her all about to-day and Fontaine and everything."

"He's incredible, isn't he, Petunia?" Steinman asked of the receptionist.

"Very impressive, Mr. Barsetti."

"How's your arm?"

"Perfect! Probably better than it was before. I'm pissed though, look! Two of those slugs nicked my ink!" He pulled up his tattered, blood-crusted sleeve, revealing a small patch of regrown tissue free of ink on his Barsetti tattoo. There was also a big portion missing from the Celtic cross he had gotten in prison. "Guess I don't really care 'bout this one, though. I've been thinkin' about gettin' rid of my prison ones."

"Put your shirt down, Ralph. If you're all ready, I'll walk you home now."

"Yeah, I'm good. Bye, Petunia. Thanks for sittin' with me," the officer said.

"My pleasure, Ralph. Good-bye, Dr. Steinman."

"Good-night, Petunia. And thanks again for keeping an eye on him."

The pair made a pit-stop at their apartment before heading out for the evening. Ralph changed into his dress uniform and Steinman put on one of his nicer suits. Sullivan sent them a line saying to meet at The Trident, a small bar popular with the security guards of Rapture.

When they arrived they were bombarded by cheering officers. Ralph, not used to being the centre of attention, blushed furiously, assuring his fellow officers that the whole matter really wasn't a big deal.

"There he is! Big Ralphie! Smuggler-slayer of Rapture!" Officer Mahoney laughed, grabbing Barsetti in a semi-successful headlock, issuing him an aggressive noogie.

"It wasn't a big thing, Rusty…"

"Didja get to see the look on his face when ya blew his brains out?" asked another officer.

"Nah, it was dark. But really, if it wasn't for Churchill, I probably wouldn't have found him."

"Hey, Ralphie! How're you feelin'?" Schwartz asked, patting his back.

"I'm alright, how're you? You got the first big hit."

"Eh, ain't no bandit tough enough to keep me down."

"Is Churchill here?"

"Yeah! Over there, at the table!"

Barsetti eagerly rounded on him. "Churchill! How're ya doin', guy?" They shook hands firmly. Churchill allowed himself to be pulled up gently in a hug.

"I'm fine. Don't really remember too much after goin' into Fighting Mac's, but, at least they were able to patch me up."

"Well, good. Hey! You all probably heard of Doc Steinman. Doc, these are the security boys." There was a mutual greeting for Steinman, and he nodded, smiling in reply. Chief Sullivan pushed through the masses of olive-drab clad bodies, a bottle of Old Harbinger in his hand.

"It's about time you showed up," he said jokingly.

"My doctor said not to push myself," Ralph said, winking at Steinman. Sullivan twisted the cap off of the bottle, surrendering it to his officer.

"You seen the headlines lately?" He accepted a newspaper from another guard, passing it to Ralph. The front page read loud and clear:

**Ryan Takes Down Smuggling Operation-Fontaine and Thugs Killed in Firey Shootout!**

It went on to briefly mention Ralph and how he had secured the final shot.

"…Oh, wow…" he chuckled, amazed. "The only time I've ever been in the paper was when they were reportin' the local crimes in Chicago." Many of the boys laughed.

"Well, not only that, I've got some big changes for you, kid," he said, tapping Barsetti's chest roughly. He whistled loudly. "Yo! Can I get you guys for a moment here?!" Everyone stopped what they were doing and gave their attention. "Thanks. As we all know, Barsetti here was the one responsible for finally takin' out Fontaine. He's an excellent officer and tough as nails, you all know that, you work with the damn guy." More laughter. "So, I think it's only fitting that I promote him to Deputy Chief of Security. What d'you think?" There was a resounding cheer of approval and all around, glasses and bottles clinked in toast. Ralph stood speechless, his face red.

"Well? Say somethin', you bear!" Sullivan chided, playfully punching one of his deputy's arm.

Ralph looked down at the bottle of beer in his hand and shrugged. "…Bottoms up." The whole bar was overcome by throngs of laughter as he tipped back.

"Well put, my friend, well put," the Chief agreed. "Bring your other uniform in to-morrow so we can put your new patches on."

"Oh, er, I was gonna take it to the tailor to have the—"

"Don't worry about that. We'll fix the sleeve and everything. Just bring it in."

"Wow, thanks, Chief!"

"No problem, Deputy." Their bottles met, immediately followed by a hefty swill. Ralph nearly choked on his beer when he brought the bottle down. Andrew Ryan had sidled up next to him and John.

"Mr. Ryan, sir!" he stated, saluting.

Ryan sneered. "Stop that. You look like a brain-dead soldier."

Barsetti immediately dropped his hand.

"Chief Sullivan told me all about the success of the raid and your role at Port Neptune." He paused for quite some time. "…It seems I owe you a rather outstanding apology." Ralph smiled. "At John's dinner last month, I do believe I had a talk with you. I told you I didn't trust you and that I was concerned about your position at the docks. I didn't believe you when you said you didn't have any connection with Fontaine. Now I know the truth, the truth you were so trying to tell me." He placed a hand on Barsetti's shoulder. "You've done a wonderful service for me and more importantly, for Rapture. I also want you to know that you're welcome to visit me any time you wish. You've earned my trust, Deputy Barsetti." With that, he raised his glass, touching it to the tall guard's.

It was a good thing Ralph had brought Steinman along…he was hardly in any shape to walk home. Barsetti had accepted every drink that was purchased for him, and everyone was eager. Steinman had shooed away the last few takers. He was glad he had while dragging the heavy Deputy back home at two in the morning. He was also glad he remembered to pick up a hangover tonic from the Pavilion that day.


	21. Phase 21

Phase 21-September, 1958

Ralph lounged lazily on the sofa. He'd spent practically the whole day there, getting up only to use the bathroom or get something to eat. He had been recently engaged in some terrible B-horror movie about a giant spider. He was swiftly losing interest, though. He listened to the Wilhelm Screams coming from the television and lazily cast his vision to the screen. "That's what ya get for makin' all those bombs," Barsetti sighed, closing his eyes and getting comfortable on the sofa. "…Big-ass spiders 'n shit."

Steinman entered the living room, tying a black bowtie around his neck. He frowned at his lover's reclined position.

"Ralph? What are you doing? Aren't you dressed?"

The worker looked up, raising one eyebrow as he looked down his torso. He was clad in a worn undershirt, which had grown a bit too small for him, and blue jeans, unbuttoned at the waist.

"…This a trick question or somethin'?"

"We-I-I have a gala to go to to-night," he said, trying to keep calm.

"Yeah, I know. Have fun. You gonna be home late?"

"No, Ralph! You're coming with me. You're my escort."

"What? This is news to me," the worker said, heaving himself up to a sitting position.

"I've been telling you this for the last week!"

"I don't remember ever bein' told I was supposed to come with you. These are _your_ friends."

"It's for the elite of Rapture. There will be plenty of people I don't know or don't associate with there."

"Exactly why I should stay here."

John groaned with growing frustration. He sat down next to his partner. "Please, Ralph? Please? I do a lot of things for you. Can't you just spend a few hours out with me at a formal gathering?"

"John…I don't think this is a good idea," Ralph sighed, lowering his head a little. "It's for all the big-shots in Rapture. I'm no big-shot. I'm a working-stiff and to a lesser extent, a reformed mobster. I don't belong in a place like that. You and I both know it. Besides, I don't even have a tux or anything."

"Well…perhaps this is your chance?" the surgeon said timidly.

"Huh?"

"I said, perhaps this is your chance. Go to the gala and make people see that you're not a criminal and that you're past the mob. Show them that you're not riff-raff or any of that. If you're so worried about what people think of you, prove them wrong. And hey, you're now known as 'the man who killed Fontaine'. You're a veritable hero!"

"Oh, yeah. I kinda forgot about that."

Ralph looked up as he felt John's hands take one of his, stroking it tenderly. The doctor smiled kindly at him.

"Please, honeybear? It's only for a little while. Two, three hours at the most?"

Barsetti sighed, running a hand through his hair. John reached up, chucking his chin. The dockhand was about to protest further, when he caught sight of his lover's eyes. He found it difficult to deny the soft brown irises.

"Please, Ralph? For me?"

A slight smile tugged at Barsetti's lips. "…Is there gonna be food there?"

"Of course, but you just ate, silly!" laughed John.

"I don't care."

"So you'll go?"

"…Yeah, yeah, I'll go—but only for you."

The surgeon squeaked with giddiness, hugging him tightly around the neck. "Thank you, Ralph, thank you! Now hurry! If you don't move now, we're going to be late!"

"Alright, alright! I'm hoppin' to it," he said, hoisting his bulk up and sliding his suspenders back on his shoulders. "Should I wear the tan suit or the black?"

"The black, please!" Steinman called out, disappearing into the bathroom. "No…" he stuck his head out of the doorway. "…Wear your dress uniform."

"Oh? You want big Ralphie-boy to wear his dress blues?"

"Mm, I most certainly do…" Steinman finished with a purr.

"You got it, tough guy," Ralph said, wrapping his arms around John's waist. His hands fondled his buttocks roughly.

"Oh, c'mon! You can grope me all you want later."

"Sor-ry."

"Ralph? Are you ready, honey?"

"Yep! Are you?"

"Just about!"

John stood in front of the mirror near the kitchen, running a hand over his hair, straightening his lapels, and smoothing out his shirt and cummerbund. A few moments later, his lover lumbered from the hall, brushing lint and debris from his shoulders and arms. Steinman turned to receive him…and was utterly shocked. Ralph was clad in his black dress uniform, a white button-up, and the blue cubist tie John had picked out that he said "went well with his eyes". He placed his officer's cap on his head, a toothpick resting on his lip. The surgeon felt himself stiffen behind his dress pants. Ralph looked unsure, scratching the back of his neck.

"Well…what do you think? How do I clean up?"

"…Mr. Barsetti—" giggled Steinman. He went to his lover, placing his hands on his waist. "Look at _you_…"

Ralph smiled. "So? Do I look good?"

"Good? Ralph…I believe you're one of the handsomest men I've ever seen in all my years."

"Aw, shucks," the big man blushed.

"See for yourself…" John looked down with a prideful smile, tugging on his pants lightly to further accentuate his erection.

"Hey…lookit that," Ralph chuckled.

"That's all you. It happened the moment I saw you."

"You want me to relieve you of it?"

Steinman's cheeks went red.

"It should be interesting if you walk into the party with a big stiff."

"Well…" John considered it for a moment, but ultimately declined. "I'm sorry, Ralph. You know I'd love it, but I don't want to get intimate right before a gathering like this. I don't want to be sleepy so early in the evening and I don't want to be aroused the whole time we're there."

"Fair enough. But you'll let me at it later, eh?"

"Behave yourself at the gala and we'll see," the surgeon tempted, moving around his lover. Ralph chuckled heartily. "Now, come on. We should be leaving now. And no punching anyone."

"Roger-dodger."

Despite the brawl the big Italian had initiated during the last high-society get-together, Barsetti and Steinman were both feeling confident. Ralph, now having a credited position as Deputy of Rapture's Security, and John, satisfied with his lover's domestication, were more than eager to show everyone his transformation. The "Best and Brightest" gala was being held at Fort Frolic, which Sander Cohen was graciously co-hosting with Andrew Ryan. Its purpose was twofold: to celebrate the greatest minds and achievers in Rapture and to provide a bit of entertainment as well. Ralph, who had never been inside Fort Frolic, was stunned and awed by the colourful atmosphere and the playful scenery.

"Well…what do you think?"

"Oh my god…this place is _nuts_," Ralph said with a chuckle. He was reminded of his first night in New York City; the flashing, neon lights, the crowds of people, the general air of excitement and the need to rush everything.

"What would you like to do first, dear? We've got until midnight, that's when the awards are given."

"Well, I'm not much for shoppin'. Any good bars around this joint?"

Steinman laughed. "You haven't seen anything yet…"

"…This is gonna be good," Ralph smiled to himself, following the surgeon closely.

Deputy Barsetti had his choice of three different bars: the cocktail lounge, Sinclair Spirits, or the one in Eve's Garden. The latter was obviously out of the question, so he ending up picking Sinclair Spirits. He ordered a tasty, albeit expensive, Bloody Mary. John went with a fine cognac with a dash of lemon. Having attended to their thirst, they wandered around the immense venue, scoping out the crowd and the shops.

At a quarter to nine, they found themselves outside the Fleet Hall. Ryan was supposed to meet up with them before the entertainment started, as they were invited to share his private box. During their wait, Steinman focused on the gallery next to the theatre: Cohen's Collection. The artist had finagled his way out of the last get together at the Kashmir, and John hadn't heard from him since his infamous phone call. He was tired of waiting.

"Oh, Ralph, would you excuse me for a moment? I have to go…take care of something."

"Um, sure. Want me to come with?"

"No." Steinman was quick to answer. "…This is between me and 'the Wild Bunny'." With that, the surgeon strode to their right, towards the private art gallery. A smile slid across the big guard's face.

"Go get 'em, tiger."

Ralph stood by the entrance to the Hall, sipping his Bloody Mary. He made sure to nod politely to everyone that paid him some sort of attention. And to his surprise, many people did. He kept a careful eye over the sea of tuxedoes and evening gowns. The whole foyer was abuzz with every form of chatter imaginable. Ralph bit the end of the celery stalk. He felt a hand on his shoulder in the next moment. Acknowledging the touch, he found himself staring at a guilty-looking Kyle Fitzpatrick. The tall, somber young man averted his eyes, wringing his hands slightly.

"Oh, um, hi there…Kyle, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Are you busy? May I talk to you for a moment?"

"Uh, sure."

"Here, follow me." The disciple pulled out a keyring, nodding towards the foyer of the theatre. "If you're comfortable with it, can we talk in private?"

"I don't care."

"Okay. Um…this way, please."

Barsetti followed him past the busy concessions and up a pair of staircases, unlocking a door at the top. Fitzpatrick switched on the lights, shutting the door behind them.

"Where are we? Some kinda storage room?"

"Yeah, this is where we keep all the film reels, lighting fixtures, and instruments and stuff like that." Fitzpatrick paused for a moment. "…I-I'm sorry, Mr. Barsetti."

"For…?" the security guard began as he finished the rest of the celery from his drink.

"I…I didn't know Mr. Cohen was going to…ask you to do that."

"Oh…that." He remembered it clearly. However, he wondered why the young man was apologising; he looked about as thrilled as Ralph did when the artist made his suggestion. "I dunno. You _were_ yankin' it while I was modelin'—"

"That's because I, sort of, I guess…" he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know what came over me. I-I don't ever do that, I mean…with more than one person watching. I know it's a terrible thing to do in the open, but…I feel awful about it. It's been bothering me ever since then. I've been meaning to apologise to you, so…I'm very sorry." Fitzpatrick hugged his arms, staring at the floor, forlorn.

Ralph sighed. He liked Fitzpatrick. He didn't get the same uncomfortable or hostile vibe he received from the other disciples. In spite of himself, he reached out, stroking the pianist's cheek. Kyle flinched, but gradually accepted the touch.

"If I had just a bit less of a conscience, I probably would have jumped right in bed. You're a very handsome, sweet young man, Kyle, and any guy in their right mind would kill for a night with you. But I'm very committed to John Steinman. I love him to death."

"…Thanks, Mr. Barsetti, for the compliments. And _I_ love Mr. Cohen to death."

"Hey, I calls 'em as I sees 'em. Speakin' of which, where's your sugar-daddy at?"

"He's over in the gallery. I think someone wanted to buy one of his sculptures."

"Does that mean he's takin' you out to dinner to-night?" chuckled Barsetti.

Kyle shrugged.

"John said he was gonna take me over there. I don't know what happened to him, though. He's probably hob-nobbin' around here somewhere." He didn't tell the tall disciple the truth about Steinman's whereabouts.

"Thanks again, Mr. Barsetti. You're very kind…and I really like you."

"Hey, it don't pay to be all depressed right before a performance, eh?"

Fitzpatrick shrugged, smiling.

"Would you allow me to buy you a drink after?"

"Well…I would, but I don't really drink so much."

"We can run over to the café and I can buy you a cup of coffee?"

"I don't know…"

"Hey, you ever had Irish or Spanish coffee?"

"I don't think so."

"It's all your standard coffee fixin's with a splash of liquor. It's not bad, I think you'd be all over that. I know you're a coffee drinker."

"Well…alright. I'll try it."

"Thatta boy!" Barsetti said, patting him on the shoulder. "Wanna meet me here after your performance?"

"Okay. Thanks, Mr. Barsetti."

Ralph slugged him playfully on the shoulder, winking at him. "Break a leg out there, kiddo."

Kyle, face burning red, backed towards the door. "You look nice…and that tie brings out your eyes!" he said quickly and bashfully, making a speedy exit. He nearly tripped on the first stair, but caught himself just in time. Red-faced, he hurried back to the theatre.

"Heh, nobody can resist Big Ralphie. The kid has good taste." He descended the stairs, ready for another drink. He went a bit ridged as he saw Andrew Ryan approaching.

"Good evening, Deputy Barsetti. Hm, I see you've taken your cap off. Put it back, I'm no king or cardinal."

"Oh, sorry, Mr. Ryan. Just tryin' to be respectful."

"…Where's my son the doctor? Surely you're not here without him."

"He went over to check on something with Mr. Cohen."

"I see," nodded Ryan. Ralph struggled to find something more to say. "How is your position as a security guard? Still going just as well?"

"Oh, it's great! I love it. Undoubtly the best job I've ever had, and I've worked in a lotta places."

"Good. I'm glad you like it. Sullivan has nothing but praise to give to you. You're obviously good. You are, after all, the man who killed Frank Fontaine."

"Oh, well…" Barsetti blushed lightly. "I try."

"With men like you, hopefully we can finally put an end to this smuggling ring. Any contact with the surface exposes us to the very parasites we fled from. Your area of expertise is narcotics, correct?"

"Yes, sir. I'm the head of the Narcotics Unit."

"You definitely deserve the position."

"Thank you, sir."

"…Come with me to my box. We can talk more. I wish to spend a few moments alone with you."

"Oh, um, with respect, sir, I told Steinman I'd wait for him outside. Is that okay?"

"Certainly. I suppose I have all night to talk to you. Meet me up there when you've regrouped."

Meanwhile, Steinman was searching Cohen's Collection for the man himself. It didn't take him long; he was haggling flamboyantly with a potential buyer. Straightening his bowtie, he reared on the artist.

"Oh, look who it is," Cohen said snidely.

"Sander, I need to talk to you…now."

"I'm with a collector—"

"Now!"

"It's no big deal, Mr. Cohen. I have to write the cheque anyway," the short man said, sliding away.

"…Are you angry about something, John?" the artist asked sarcastically.

"Frustrated more than anything."

"Why? Because Ralph had a…nice time with me and young Fitzpatrick?"

"Interestingly put…seeing as your night was anything but depraved."

"Oh, that couldn't be farther from th truth, my dear Steinman."

"I know he did nothing. With either of you."

Sander chuckled, rolling his eyes. "My, he's certainly pulled the wool over your eyes. Then again, being from Apollo Square, I'm sure he's good at conniving."

"Sander…Ralph and I have been together for nearly seven months. In that time, we've forged two things perhaps unfamiliar to you…trust and dedication. I know that Ralph was telling the truth when he said he didn't have any degree of sex with you or your young whore."

Cohen laughed, the kind beginning with a low chuckle and entering into a crescendo that put him at a vile cackle. "My, my…how naïve you are, John. One can definitely tell you're beginning to suffer mentally from all that ADAM you take."

Steinman brought his elbow back, his fist connecting with Cohen's nose. A blood spurted from his nostrils, a few drops staining the plastered sculpture. He stared up at the surgeon in disbelief, blood dripping through his fingers.

"The ADAM certainly hasn't affected me mentally…or harmed me physically." He tugged on the lapels of his tuxedo. "…We're even."

As he triumphantly left the gallery, he listened to the laments of Sander Cohen.

"Martin! Martin, come over here quick! And bring a first-aid kit or a medi-hypo or _something_! I'm bleeding to death!"

"…Now that's _real_ music," Steinman chuckled to himself.

Cohen, frantically waiting for one of his disciples to come to his aide, stared at the blood that stained one of his pieces. Holding his nose with one hand, he reached out with the other, smearing the sanguine spots. Like many artists, one of Sander's great pleasures came from the first strokes on a blank canvas. The white plaster was not unlike one. In the recesses of his mind, a new idea was forming, something fresh, bold, something he'd never seen any other artist, above the surface or underneath, undertake. He stared at the blood on the sculpture, on his hands. His eyes soon found their way to a man deeply engaged in one of his paintings. Martin Finnegan came in with a few rags and a first-aid kit.

"Sorry it took so long, Sander. You okay?"

"…It's everywhere, but I think I'll live, Martin. And…don't be so concerned about your punctuality…"

Ralph was exactly where he had left him, by the entrance to the Hall. Steinman dusted off his hands, a wide smile on his face as he approached his lover.

"So? You get the job done?"

"Bleeding like a stuck pig."

"Ooh, my hero…" Barsetti said, making to place an arm around his waist. He drew back, remembering they were out in a very public place.

"Don't touch. Have you seen Mr. Ryan yet? He said he was going to meet us here before Kyle Fitzpatrick's performance."

"Yeah, he's inside. He said he wanted to chat with me, but I told him I was waitin' for you."

"My, how gallant!"

"Heh, tell me somethin' I don't know."

"Well, lead the way, chief."

"_Deputy_ Chief."

"…Shut up."

After the recital, Fitzpatrick did indeed meet Ralph by the reel room, where they had previously encountered. He welcomed the pianist with literal open arms.

"Hey, there he is! C'mere, gimme a hug!"

Blushing, Kyle embraced him warmly.

"Did you like it?"

"Like it? I loved it! You were great, big guy! Man, you sure know how to tickle those ivories!"

"Thanks, Mr. Barsetti!"

Ralph held onto his waist, staring up into his eyes.

"Sheesh, how tall are you, Kyle?"

"Six-foot six."

"Damn, you got three inches on me! But you were so wonderful. I'm jealous of you and your talent."

"I can't thank you enough, Mr. Barsetti—"

"Hey, I thought I told you to call me Ralph?"

"…Sorry."

"Hey, I can see Mr. Cohen liked it, too. Is that a bit of lipstick on your collar?"

The disciple went red, furiously trying to pull his collar out to check. The guard laughed heartily, patting him on the back. "I'm just messin' with ya, Kyle. C'mon, let's go get that drink."

They ran into Dr. Steinman on the way out of Fleet Hall. Fitzpatrick blushed furiously, trying to keep himself from giggling boyishly.

"Oh? And where are you two handsome young men off to?" the surgeon enquired, stroking one of Ralph's forearms.

"I promised Kyle I'd buy him a drink after his performance. You wanna join us?"

"I would, but, I'm supposed to meet up with Dr. Alenxander at the cocktail lounge in a few minutes. Will you be down later, Ralphie?"

"Of course I will."

"Alright, then. You boys enjoy yourselves. You were terrific, Mr. Fitzpatrick."

"…Thank you, Dr. Steinman, sir…"

The plastic surgeon winked at him sensually, just to play with him. It made Kyle break down into fits of giggles before moving along with Ralph.

"…He's cute…but Ralph is cuter," he concluded.

Barsetti and Fitzpatrick meandered all the way to Sinclair Spirits, straddling stools next to each other at the bar.

"What'll it be, gentlemen?" the barkeep enquired.

"I'll take a whiskey sour, and how about an Irish coffee for the star, here?" Ralph ordered for them.

"You got it. One whiskey sour and one Irish coffee comin' up."

"Seriously, Ralph, I can't thank you enough for all the nice things you've said about me, and for the drink."

"Hey, don't worry about it, Kyle. I just calls 'em as I sees 'em. And I'm always willin' to buy a drink for my friends. Especially now that I got the money to do so."

"You didn't before?" questioned the young man, inching a bit closer.

"Well, no. I got a job as a security guard a little while ago, but I was a stevedore down at Neptune's for the longest time. I finally ditched that and decided to do something worthwhile with my life."

"Well that's good. I'm glad for you."

"Thanks."

The barkeep set their drinks down for them.

"So? What do you think? You said you've never had one of those before, right?"

"Nope, I haven't. It's not bad. I rarely drink; usually only at parties or on holidays."

"Speaking of which, isn't one of Cohen's er, 'disciples' or whatever, an alcoholic?"

"Yeah, Hector is. I wish one of us could get through to him. He's a fabulous musician. I learned a lot from him the first week I met him. That was before he starting sinking into alcoholism. He was a good teacher. He'd give me little tips here and there at the piano in Fleet Hall. He'd always have a glass of whiskey by the music rack. One turned into two, turned into three…turned into four," he said uneasily.

Ralph nodded. "My old man was a boozer. I know what you guys are goin' through."

"I had an uncle who was the same way. He was also addicted to morphine. We didn't see much of him, though," Fitzpatrick said. There was a slightly awkward moment of silence between them. "Oh well," Kyle sighed, taking a drink.

"Um, changing the subject…" Ralph began, leaning a bit closer to the pianist. "I just wanted to tell you, you gotta really nice dick."

Kyle nearly choked on his coffee, his face a brilliant crimson. "Stop making me do that!"

"Sorry."

Fitzpatrick dabbed at his tux coat with his napkin.

"I uh, happened to see it when you were pullin' on it when I was modelin'."

"…I guess it was kinda hard to miss…"

"Especially with as long as it is. You could put an eye out with that piece if you got excited during a conversation."

"…I-I meant that only because I was openly masturbating."

"Hey, it ain't braggin' if you can back it. Mr. Cohen must be real…pleased…with you."

"Don't you think you're getting a little personal, Ralph?"

Barsetti shrugged. "I'll tell you all about Steinman, if you want."

"…Well…"

"I knew that'd get ya," chuckled Ralph. "He really likes to cuddle. He's a big cuddler. He also likes to start evenings out all romantic-like, you know, candlelit dinners, sappy records, mood lighting, that whole bit."

"Aw, that's sweet. I like that, too."

"Mr. Cohen take you out a lot? You know, to dinner and such?"

"Well…" Fitzpatrick averted his eyes for a moment. "No…" but quickly brought them back. "But it's only because he's so busy! He's pretty famous down here, he was on the surface, too. Well, he should have been, at least. His work wasn't appreciated like it should have been back up there. We've been out a few times, to the Kashmir Restaurant, but I mainly cook for him. He likes my cooking. Mr. Cohen says he's not very good, so I help him out. Silas cooks for him on the occasion too. He's not bad."

"What's he cook? Like, squirrels and raccoons and stuff?"

Kyle laughed out loud. "Martin jokes about that all the time! They're always making fun of each other or quarreling or something. They're like Laurel and Hardy, sort of."

"You like Cohen's art?"

"I love it! I never used to understand abstract painting until I met him. His music's wonderful too! Have you ever heard any of his records?"

"I've heard the one…'Below the Ocean' or what-have-you?"

"I love that one! He's sooo talented!" Kyle swooned, staring off into the distance fondly. "He's writing material for a new one. I think he said he wanted to call it 'Why Even Ask?'."

"Interesting…"

"Have you ever been to his gallery in here? Cohen's Collection? Or the one in Dionysus Park?"

"No, actually, this is my first time being in Fort Frolic ever."

"We should go. He said he'd meet me there later. His sculptures are magnificent!"

"I'm sure they are…" Ralph said to himself, sipping his whiskey. "So, do you get along with the other three disciples?"

"Yeah, for the most part. I think they're jealous of me, though. Because of my relationship with Mr. Cohen. He said I'm the only one he er…takes upstairs. Hector was my favourite, then he fell to alcoholism. Silas is okay, but it seems like he's always making fun of me for being tall or something. He's very…physical, too."

"Physical?"

"…I mean, he likes to touch me. I guess it wouldn't bother me if he at least asked first, but he always just puts his hands on me. I don't like it."

"Sock him. You're, what, at least eight, ten inches taller than him? Pop him in the jaw next time he tries to."

"I don't know…"

"You gotta be way stronger than him, too. Just let him have it. Show him that you don't like it. Heh, show him those hands aren't just for playin' the piano."

"I'm not a violent person. I'm not a really sexual person, either. I mean, if I'm in the mood, then yeah, but, I don't know. Otherwise, I just don't like talking about sex or sexualised things. One time, a year or so ago, Mr. Cohen wanted me, Hector, Silas, Martin, and a few others to be in this…he called it a 'living tableau', but it was just us in really revealing costumes posed together for an audience. I felt so uncomfortable. I could tell some people were touching themselves, too. Ugh…"

"See? You can't let people walk all over you like that. You gotta tell 'em when you're uncomfortable, and tell 'em good if they don't take a hint. You're a big guy, you're taller than most I've seen around here, don't be afraid to tell 'em off, one way or another."

"But I wouldn't want to say something like that to _Mr. Cohen_. He takes so much pride in his work, and it's usually very good. I just don't want him to get mad at me. He's been a bit…irritable, lately. Almost like a time-bomb. I never know when he's going to get angry."

"Well, start small. The Cohen thing I can get, but you shouldn't be afraid to tell someone like Silas off. He's not important. You're the one who probably has a leg-up, seeing as you're such a talented pianist."

"…I suppose I could try it—"

"Next time he tries to put his hands on you—" the brute grabbed his collar, pulling his face up to his. He spoke through gritted teeth in example. "Grab his collar like this, get in his face, and say 'getcher motherfuckin' paws off me, you limp-wristed, record-slingin' hick'!"

"…Wow…you're good at this," complimented Fitzpatrick.

Barsetti let him go. "On the surface, I was in the Chicago mob for a few years. I was one of the guys who extorted business owners."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but enough about me. You were sayin'? About the other guys?"

"Oh, right. Martin never seems to be in a good mood. I think I've only seen him smile once or twice since I've known him."

"I don't blame Cohen. You're definitely the cutest out of all of 'em."

"Oh…gee," smiled the young man.

"Hey, um, listen. About Cohen's relationships with the other guys…" he paused for a moment, wondering how he was going to attack this. He liked Kyle, and he thought he deserved to know about what he'd seen at the apartment prior to his modeling and how he acted at Steinman's place and the theatre. Kyle cocked his head, giving him his full attention. "…Um, I know this is somethin' you probably don't wanna hear, but, I think you have the right to know, 'cuz I care about you and all. I uh…I don't think Mr. Cohen goes upstairs with only you."

Fitzpatrick raised an eyebrow. "W-What do you mean?"

"Well, I've sorta, kinda, seen him do stuff with other guys."

"Wha…I…I don't understand."

"You know when I came over?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, when you were out in the den, when he was talkin' to me and the others at the bar, he sorta…made-out with Silas before he left. They stopped as soon as you came in to get some coffee."

"…What?"

"They were gettin' real touchy-feely. Like asses and cocks touchy-feely."

Kyle studied his mug, concerned.

"Martin also pinched him before he left, too. Cohen giggled like a girl. He was havin' some fun. Also, he came over to Steinman's place with Ryan for dinner once, and he pretty much spent the whole time hittin' on me. He was touchin' my leg, tryin' to get me to show him all my tattoos and like, tryin' to strip me, and he even tried to grab my dick. He tried to do it again when Steinman and I went to see a singer at Fleet Hall. He spent the evenin' tryin' to feel me up."

After digesting all this, the young pianist smiled, looking back to Ralph. "I think you've got the wrong idea, Ralph. I mean, don't get me wrong, any man in their right mind would try to touch you, but you've got Mr. Cohen all wrong." He took a breath. "Mr. Cohen loves me. He told me. One night, after we made love in his bed, he told me that he loved me and that he didn't want any other man with him. I love him too. I've never had a serious relationship with another man before him, and I'm glad I didn't. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for him. He's a wonderful artist and an even better lover. I look up to him and view him as a mentor and sort of…well, a father-figure. I'm proud to say he calls me one of his 'disciples', and I'm honoured to be one. It's going to take a lot for me to hate him, or to distrust him…an awful lot. Like, he'd have to lock me up somewhere or, or I don't know, glue me to a piano and make me play it until I die," he laughed airily while saything this. "I guess I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I'm sure you're mistaken. Mr. Cohen wouldn't do anything like that to me."

Ralph stared at him rather blankly. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard. The kid was worse off than he though. Kyle finished his coffee, looking down at his watch.

"Well, I promised Mr. Cohen I wouldn't be too late. I have to help him up at his gallery. Why don't you come with me? We can show it to you."

"Uh, sure…why not."

"Thanks again for the drink. I liked it. I like spending time with you."

"…Yeah, no problem, kiddo."

Once they were clear of Sinclair Spirits, Kyle stopped Ralph in the hallway, touching his shoulder.

"Oh, Ralph? I uh, almost forgot to tell you…"

"What's that, kiddo?"

He sighed quickly. "…Y-You look so great in that uniform." Fitzpatrick turned away, chewing furiously on one of his finger nails. Barsetti chuckled, placing his large hands on the lad's wide hips.

"What a nice thing to say."

"…I'm only being honest. I-I read about you in the newspaper. How you lead that team that killed Frank Fontaine."

"Well, Chief Sullivan was leading us, I just happened to get to his room first."

Kyle innocently stroked the array of patches on his sleeve. "…C-Can I tell you something kinda personal, Ralph?"

"I'm all ears."

"Well…a day or two after you er…modeled…for Mr. Cohen, I-I had a dream about you. You and me were…"

"Don't keep me hangin'."

"…We were cuddling in the Farmer's Market. It was kinda strange. No one else was around."

"Hm…what a convenient place to learn about the birds and the bees." Fitzpatrick's face went red bashfully. "I bet you're a good cuddler, Kyle."

"I bet you are too, Ralph."

"Why? Because of my gut?"

"No, because you're big and sweet and…" Kyle trailed off, focusing on the hand that was now stroking his cheek. His breathing became laboured, closing his eyes as he tipped his head back slightly. "Oh my god…oh my god…" he whispered. Barsetti couldn't help staring down at his swollen groin, and he couldn't help feeling a bit humbled as well. Blinded by lust, he ran a hand up Fitzpatrick's thigh, his thumb nicking his groin. The pianist's back straightened as he let out a slightly orgasmic grunt. Ralph took his hands away, staring up.

"Um…did you just hit it?"

"N-Not quite. B-But…"

As he tried to move back in, Fitzpatrick pushed his hands away, still trying to regain his breath. "No…no more. Please don't."

"Yeah…you're probably right." He paused for a moment, favouring the disciple with his cold, blue eyes. "…Kyle?"

"Yeah?"

"…You sure you still want to be with Cohen?"

"…Are you sure you still want to be with Steinman?"

The Deputy unbuttoned his uniform, slinging his tie over his shoulder. Pulling back his shirt, he revealed John's name tattooed on his chest. It was covered by thick, dark chest hair, but the disciple could still see it.

"I didn't get this for fun. All my tattoos mean somethin', somethin' important. See the tiger lilies over her? Those were my ma's favourite flowers. They're mine, too."

Kyle pulled something out of his pocket. It was a very expensive gold lighter. It had his initials engraved on it, as well as the outline of a rabbit masquerade mask, obviously a gift from Cohen.

"…Mr. Cohen told me how much he spent on this. Unfortunately, I'm not going to tell you."

"Fair enough. Um…this never happened?"

"I think that's best."

"Okay. Um…why don't you take me to that gallery now, eh?"

"Sure, Mr. Barsetti."

Ralph was uncomfortable the moment he stepped inside the gallery with Fitzpatrick. He thought Cohen's room was scary, but it was nothing compared to rooms filled with his art. A few paintings were nice, like the landscape of the city of Rapture, and he particularly liked the charcoal of a male nude, but for the most part, his abstractions and sculptures made him uneasy. Quite a few people were bustling inside, enjoying refreshments or drinks in the lounge or pouring over the art. They found him in no time, brooding in his office. Sander was elated to see his disciple. Ralph was happy to hear him whine over the damage Steinman had dealt him.

"Kyle! Oh, Kyle, I'm so glad you're here!" he wailed, throwing his arms around him. Barsetti always thought they were cute when they hugged, regardless of how unfortunate their relationship was. Their height difference was still amusing.

"What's the matter, Mr. Cohen?"

"Kyle, look what John Steinman did to me! My nose is probably broken!" He buried his face into Kyle's chest, heaving a series of false sobs.

"Why would he do a thing like this, Mr. Cohen?" Fitzpatrick asked, falling for the gaff.

"I don't know, Kyle! Here I was, tending to my own business, talking to Mr. Salisbury about a sculpture he wanted to buy, and in stalks that horrible surgeon! He came right up to me, said some dreadfully nasty things, and he struck me! Here! Right on the nose! That brute! He's a butcher! In and out of the office!"

"Hey!" roared Ralph, taking a step forward. "…Steinman _isn't_ a butcher. He's an _artist_."

Cohen's sobs instantly turned to maniacal laughter upon hearing him. "What?! John Steinman, an artist?! Mr. Barsetti, _I_ am an artist. _Kyle Fitzpatrick_ is an artist. Steinman is _not_ an artist and he'll _never_ be one."

Barsetti saw red, but he also remembered what had happened the last time he engaged someone at a party. He tried his best to keep his cool.

"…Sander…John had every reason to punch you. In fact, you deserve a bit more. You tried to get me in bed with Kyle and then you called John and told him we actually fucked, when I did nothing of the sort. I'd never seen him so pissed when I got home. I had to explain everything. And you know what? …He believed me. He knows I'd never cheat on him and that I love him more than anyone in the entire world. Kyle…he's been lyin' to you. That's what I was tryin' to tell ya down at Sinclair Spirits. Cohen doesn't love you. He's just usin' you because you're enormous and naïve. He sleeps with the other disciples and probably any boy he happens to get his hands on! You're better than that, Kyle, and you _deserve_ better than this."

Fitzpatrick stared at the artist with searching eyes.

"Don't listen to him, young Fitzpatrick! You _know_ that I love you. You _know_ that you're my favourite. I wouldn't want to share my bed with anyone else. He's _obviously _been brainwashed by his beloved _surgeon_!"

Setting his features firm, Kyle hugged him closer, narrowing his gaze at the security guard.

"Of course I know, Mr. Cohen. I love you, sir. I wouldn't want to share a bed with anyone else, either. He tried to tell me the same thing down at the bar."

"I'm telling the truth, Kyle!"

"Get out! Get out before I have you thrown out!" Cohen ordered, pointing to the door. "I've got cameras all over this place. Don't make me use them!"

"…Fine. I'll go. Kyle…you're gonna regret this. One day you're gonna wish you'd listened to me."

"…Please leave," he mumbled, lowering his eyes.

Placing his cap back on his head, Ralph turned, storming from the office and clear out of the gallery. Even if he hadn't been ordered out, he wanted to get away from that fun house as quickly as possible.

He found Steinman at a table with Dr. Alexander, sharing quaint conversation…as well as an array of drinks. Steinman waved to him when he saw his big lover entering the lounge.

"Did you enjoy your drink with Mr. Fitzpatrick?" Steinman asked.

"Yeah, I guess. He's a nice kid…but he needs to recognise when people are usin' him," Ralph said, lowering into a chair next to him.

"Here he is! The Hero of Rapture! Good evening, Ralph! You're looking rather fetching to-night," Gil complimented, shaking Barsetti's hand.

"Why, thank you, Dr. Alexander."

"What a smashing uniform you have on there."

"Isn't it handsome?" added Steinman.

"Indeed it is. Hm, attire aside, you look a bit…different, since the last time we met."

"And by 'different' you of course mean 'fatter'," chuckled Ralph, patting his stomach. John laughed, Gil searched for a response.

"Well, er, that's not exactly what I meant. I just—"

"I'm not mad. It's the truth. Things have gotten worse since I've quit smokin'. I've put on a ton of weight." While this was partially true, he neglected to explain that the reason he'd put on considerable weight was due mostly to living with Steinman.

"Oh, well, congratulations! I used to smoke when I was in school. I quit a number of years ago. It was undoubtedly one of the best decisions I've made. You won't regret it, Mr. Barsetti. I see you've become part of the security force, eh?"

"Tell him the big news! He doesn't know yet," Steinman suggested, tapping the big guard's hand.

"Actually, I just got promoted to Deputy Chief. I'm also head of the narcotics unit."

"Oh, splendid! Congratulations, my friend!"

"Thank you, Doc!"

"Ralph was also the one who shot and killed Frank Fontaine!" the surgeon couldn't help but announce.

"No! That was you?"

"Uh…yeah, it was," Ralph said bashfully.

"He's so modest! He doesn't like boast," Steinman said.

"I say, have you found any smugglers or drug rings of late? Since the incident?"

"Had a bust the other day, before this all went down. Coke bust. One of the officers brought in about thirty-thousand dollars worth. Found a lot more at their hideout. Seems a lot quieter, now. Hopefully, it'll come to a complete halt soon."

"Fascinating…" Alexander said.

"Ralph's very good at his job," Steinman added.

"Please…you're the ones who are good at your jobs. You wouldn't be here if you weren't. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna get a drink. I feel left-out lookin' at you both."

Having been unable to dance with each other in public, John and Ralph took to watching the others on the dancefloor. While the former conversed lightly with their guest, the latter scanned the large room. He frowned as a rather peculiar sight caught his eye. He spotted the only woman in the room who wasn't with a date, a dancing partner, or even a friend. She sat alone at a table in the corner staring emotionlessly at the candle centrepiece. The woman had frameless glasses, loosely styled hair, and a dark grey pantsuit. Ralph didn't think she was anything special to look at, as far as women went, but, seeing her alone, the only lady in the room without company, broke his heart. He leaned over, tapping Steinman on the shoulder.

"Hey, John?"

"Yes, Ralph?"

"Who's that dame over there in the corner?"

"Which one?"

"That one. The one all by herself."

Steinman squinted, chuckling to himself. "It's probably Dr. Langford. She's something of a recluse. I barely ever see her at get-togethers and when I do, she's always alone. I think she prefers it that way."

"Sort of a strange hen, that one," agreed Dr. Alexander.

"…I'm gonna go ask her to dance," Ralph concluded rising from his chair.

"Really? You?"

"Hey, I know what it's like to be left out. It's a junky feeling," he said, heading around the dancefloor.

Dr. Langford was surprised when she saw the tall Italian standing by her table. She didn't quite notice him at first. She looked up, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Good evenin', Miss," he said.

"…Hello."

"Any of these seats taken?"

"Er…no, none of them are."

"Would you mind if one was?"

"I er, I suppose not." She inched over as Ralph settled into one to her right.

"Who might I have the honour of sharing a table with?" he asked gallantly.

"…Dr. Langford. Julie Langford."

"Deputy Barsetti. Ralph Barsetti."

"Deputy…do you work at the Persephone penitentiary, by any chance?"

"No, no. I'm Deputy Chief of Security and Head of the Narcotics Unit."

"Wow, that's interesting. Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Deputy Barsetti."

"Likewise, Dr. Langford."

"…Wait a moment…I recognise you! You were in the Rapture Tribune a few days ago! You're the one who killed that Fontaine fellow, correct?"

"Well, I suppose. But it was a team effort. I just happened to get there first."

"Hm, perhaps you could get rid of a few people for _me_."

"Some john givin' you trouble, Doctor?"

"Well, more like a group of johns."

"I'd be more than willin' to help you, if you're serious. Just say the word."

"Why, thank you."

"…No date to-night? Or is he buyin' you a drink?"

"No, er…I don't have a date. I usually don't come to…gatherings…like this. I'm not interested in parties, or dances, or watching people drink themselves into a stupor."

Ralph shrugged. "I never used to like parties like this, until I came down here. I learned to spread my wings a little bit."

"I've more of an introverted personality versus an extroverted one. It's been this way for most of my life."

"Can I buy you a drink or somethin'?"

"I don't drink."

"Then would you like a ginger ale or anything?"

"No, thank you. I'm alright."

"Well, you're here, so you must be something special. What's your line of work?" Ralph asked.

"I'm a botanist. I taught at the University of California Berkely campus prior to coming to Rapture and worked on defoliation projects during the war, in Iwo Jima, to be precise."

"Ah, so you worked for the government?"

"You could say that."

"I was in the Navy. Four long years…" Barsetti looked thoughful for a moment. "Wait a second…you helped make Arcadia, didn't you?"

Dr. Langford immediately looked enthused. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did!"

"I knew your name sounded familiar! Wow, that's incredible, Doctor. Trees underwater…"

"Thank you! Yes, I'm very pleased with what it's become. I must admit, a part of me thought that it wouldn't be possible, but, that's the reason I'm down here. People on the surface used to think many of my theories were 'radical' or 'impractical'. Well, I certainly proved myself."

"And how! You're certainly a gem, Doctor."

"Oh…how kind of you."

Ralph looked over to the band, who had began Glenn Miller's "Moonlight Serenade". He nodded towards the dancefloor.

"Care for a dance, Dr. Langford?"

"Er, I don't know. I'm not much of a dancer."

"Neither am I. But two halves make a whole, don't they?" He offered his hand as he stood up. Reluctantly, Langford took it, heading onto the floor with him.

"You don't mind, do you?" Ralph asked politely, one of his large hands hovering over the doctor's waist.

"Well, we really can't dance if you don't, can we?"

"Very true," he smiled.

"I don't know what you were talking about, you're a good dancer," she complimented.

"I bet you tell that to all the boys. So…I take it you work for Mr. Ryan, eh?"

"I do. But, I'm a bit…unsatisfied, with his ideals and the way he runs things in Arcadia."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Then again, he's the one who signs my cheques, so I can't voice too much disapproval."

"Makes sense. I've been to Arcadia on a few dates down here."

"Oh…" Langford gave him a sideways stare. "So why aren't you with your lady-friend?"

"Easy…because I don't have one."

"I don't understand."

"My date's over there," Ralph said, nodding towards his and Steinman's table.

She stared hard at Steinman and Alexander. "…Dr. Alexander?"

"Nope, Dr. Steinman. We came together."

"…Why did Dr. Steinman bring _you_?"

Barsetti shrugged. "We're good friends, and he doesn't have a lady-friend either. I occasionally get assigned to walk a beat around the Medical Pavilion, to make sure everything's copacetic. We've been…workin' together closely for a few months."

"I find it hard to believe Dr. Steinman doesn't have a lady-friend. He's very handsome, even if he is a bit of an egotist. He thinks he's a gift to, well…everyone."

Ralph ignored her comment. "Yep, he's a looker, alright. Wish _I_ was that good-lookin'." The big guard was bursting with pride on the inside, but he didn't show it outwardly, lest he give them away.

"I don't think you're too bad, Deputy. You're very strong…and you have very entrancing eyes."

"Why thank you, Doctor. If you'll permit me, you're not too bad yourself. You sure you don't have a date?"

"I'm certain. My er, husband passed away a number of years ago."

"Oh, my condolences. Do you have any kids?"

"A daughter, yes. Rebecca. I call her 'Becky' for short."

"How old?"

"She turned eleven in June."

"Practically a lady," Ralph smiled.

"_She_ thinks she is."

"Uh oh…" Dr. Alexander said, nudging Steinman.

"What is it, Gil?"

"Look who's stolen your date," he said, pointing to the pair. Steinman spotted Ralph and Dr. Langford dancing together. He couldn't help but be struck with a slight tinge of jealousy. He finished his third Vanderbilt bitterly.

The song ended, everybody clapping for the band. Ralph walked Langford back to her table.

"Well, thank you so much for the dance, Dr. Langford. You were wonderful."

"Thank you for asking, Deputy Barsetti. You're the only one that's tried all night."

"Well, they don't know what they're missin'. You've got brains _and_ looks."

"…Thank you," she said, just a bit wary of his motifs. Sighing, she pulled her jacket from the back of her chair. "Well, I think I've had enough fun here, to-night. Things are only going to get more chaotic, and I promised my daughter I'd be home in time to tuck her in. I'm late enough already."

"Allow me," Ralph said, stepping in and holding her jacket as he punched her arms through.

"…You've been so kind to-night, Deputy—"

"Please, call me Ralph."

"You've been so kind, Ralph. I really do appreciate your time, and the dance." She smiled.

"Thank _you_ for _your_ time," he smiled in return. "Here, I'll walk you out."

After seeing Dr. Langford safely to a bathysphere, Ralph made his way back to the cocktail lounge.

"Sheesh, and I thought _John_ was prude…"

Nearing the lounge, he ran into Silas Cobb, the record store owner and one of Cohen's disciples. He was leaning casually against the tunnel, smoking a cigarette.

"Howdy, Ralph," he greeted.

"Hey, Silas. Haven't seen you at all to-night."

"Nope, been workin'. Just closed up shop."

"Really? With all this goin' on?"

"Yep. This is usually when the store does the best, when they got these hootenannies goin' on."

"No rest for the weary, eh?"

"Eh, my job ain't so tough. I don't mind it." He took a drag on his cigarette, watching Ralph. "Oh, you want one?" he asked, reaching into his pocket.

"Oh, uh, no thanks. I stopped."

"Aw, quitter!" Silas teased playfully.

"How come you're not joinin' in?"

"Eh, I don't fit with this crowd. All my dancin' partners are frowned upon."

"I came here with Steinman. We make it work."

"Yeah, but I saw you leavin' with a lady. Wasn't that the Jane who makes all them trees?"

"Who, Dr. Langford? Well, yeah. I spent some time with her. We danced, is all."

"You ain't goin' to the other team, are ya?" Cobb asked with a cheeky smile.

"Please, you kiddin'? And give up the best surgeon in Rapture's ass for that?"

"Good. Janes ain't as fun…" Cobb pushed himself off of the window, wandering down the hall, whistling to himself as he smeared his cigarette butt on top of a waist-high ashtray recepticle.

"Have a nice time with Dr. Langford, Ralphie?" Steinman asked as his partner sat back down next to him.

"Yeah, she was an okay sort." Ralph stared into his brown irises. They were a little less than focused.

"You know _I'm_ your date, right?"

"Hey, it's not like I gave her my number or anything, I just asked her to dance because she looked lonely."

"Mm-hm," Steinman said, rolling his eyes.

Gil pantomimed taking several drinks, gesturing to the plastic surgeon.

"What are you laughin' at?" he accosted his chuckling security guard.

"Nothin', nothin'," smiled Ralph, smoothing out the tablecloth in front of him. "So, what time do you wanna mosey on out of here, Johnny?"

"Mr. Ryan still has to present 'Rapture's Best and Brightest' for this year. After that, we can leave. The party usually dies down after then. I usually spend the night over at Cohen's place, but, seeing as I'm both angry with him and in love with you, I have no reason to."

"Sounds good."

"I think they're doing so as we speak," Alexander said. "Everyone seems to be leaving and the band's packing up."

"Alright, then. C'mon, Ralph. Mr. Ryan usually presents it in the atrium. That's where they unveil the poster," Steinman said, standing up.

"Right behind ya, Johnny."

The atrium was teeming with people, the immense room abuzz with chatter regarding who everyone thought the award recipients would be. Ralph and John hung back with Gil Alexander, near the front doors. A large poster advertising Eve's Garden caught the guard's attention. He nudged his lover.

"Didn't know there was a strip joint in here."

"There's at least three. You're not interested, are you?"

"They ever got guys?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Then no way."

"Good. It's not like I would take you if they did. I'm the only one who's allowed to strip for you."

Ralph's mouth hung open. He couldn't believe how loud the surgeon had said that.

"C'mon, let's get this show on the road," Steinman muttered, looking at his pocket-watch.

"Good luck, Johnny. I know you'll be on there. You're one talented guy."

"Why thank you, Ralph. I think I stand a pretty good chance," answered the doctor, smoothing down his hair.

Andrew Ryan appeared on the second level, flanked by a few maintenance workers who poised themselves to unravel the poster. Everyone applauded as he gripped the railing.

"Thank you, my friends, however, it isn't I you should applaude. The rightful credit goes to your colleagues, for this night is about you. This night is about Rapture and the individuals who give this city life. Without your ideas, art, innovations, and creations, there would be no celebration, there would be no advancement…there would be no Rapture. You are all apart of the Great Chain of Industry, and I believe we are all pulling in the right direction. So, without further ado, may I present the recipients of 'Rapture's Best and Brightest 1958'."

Barsetti looked to his lover as everyone applauded. He straightening his bowtie and adjusted his apparel, making sure he looked his finest.

"…Dr. Yi Suchong, Dr. Brigid Tenenbaum, Sander Cohen, and Konrad Kyburz."

Steinman's jaw dropped as everyone applauded.

"Hm, seems like we're both out of the circle this year. Dreadfully sorry, old chap. Perhaps next year," Gil advised with a sympathetic shrug, patting Steinman's shoulder.

"I…I can't believe it. Again? I-I still haven't won?"

Ralph put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him a bit closer. "Hey, it's okay, Johnny. Regardless, you're still a fantastic surgeon."

This served little to brighten his mood.

"…Johnny?"

Dr. Steinman sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. "…Let's just leave. This place is going to get pretty quiet anyway. All the shops and bars will be closing."

"…Sure, Johnny. Whatever you wanna do."

They wished Dr. Alexander a fond farewell and slipped out the front door without attracting any attention…almost any attention. Sander Cohen watched victoriously from the second level. He grinned wider as he watched the doctor leave.

Steinman didn't say a word the entire bathysphere trip. Despite his many attempts, Ralph couldn't get him to say anything. Giving in, he sat next to him, one muscular arm wrapped around his shoulders. John did, however, lean down, burying his face in a broad shoulder.

When at last they arrived home, Steinman tugged his bowtie off, hanging up his tuxedo and changing into his pyjamas. Ralph let him be, hanging up his uniform.

When finished, John sighed, running a hand through his hair. "…I need a moment to myself. I'm going to sit on the balcony for a while."

"Sure, pudding cup, whatever you need."

"Thanks."

Steinman spent roughly ten minutes on the balcony by himself. Ralph busied himself with looking through the newspaper from the morning. His eyes looked a bit moist, though Barsetti was positive he hadn't cried. He sat up farther on the sofa, holding out an arm for his partner. John sat down beside him, cuddling close.

"How ya doin', pudding cup? You okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine, honeybear." Apparently not, seeing as he sat up straight the next moment. "I justdon't understand! Everyone always compliments me! Everyone always says how wonderful my patients look after I've worked on them! I've spent my entire surgical career in Rapture perfecting my art and _still_ it goes unnoticed! I'm Doctor J.S. Steinman! I'm talented and beautiful!"

"Hey, hey, hey! Don't get your knickers in a bunch, Johnny! Your patients _do_ look wonderful. You_ are_ a talented surgeon. You _are_ beautiful."

Steinman threw himself on the cushion, burying his face into a pillow.

"…Hey…you know what award you did win?"

The surgeon looked up feebly. "…What?"

Ralph smiled kindly. "Rapture's Best Lover 1958."

A slow smile spread across Steinman's face.

"The judges all agree. You get tens across the board."

He reached upwards, meeting Ralph in a loving kiss.

"I love you, tough guy. Don't you forget it. You're a boss surgeon. You wouldn't be down here if you weren't somethin' special. Ryan invited you here personally, didn't he?"

"Yes, yes, I know. Though it still hurts a bit."

"Time heals all wounds." Barsetti kissed him on the forehead. "Hey…why don't you show me how you would do some kinda surgery, eh? I'd be too grossed-out to watch you at work, so why don't you show me here?"

"Really? You really want to listen to me go on about surgery?"

"Sure."

"…I won't stop once I get started."

"I don't care. Lay it on me."

"…Ralph, I'm warning you, I—"

Barsetti planted a long, wet kiss on his lips. Grabbing a handful of his arse, he smiled sweetly. "I wanna hear _all_ about it. Even if we're sittin' here until the crack of noon to-morrow."

"…Alright. Here, let me get my visual aid, or this won't mean anything," Steinman sighed, getting up from the sofa. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

"—And finally, I came around here, tucked in here, and…done," Steinman said. He had spent roughly sixty minutes explaining to Ralph how he performed a nose reconstruction using a set of before and after photos from a past client. The burly dockhand sat comfortably slouched on the sofa across from him. He rested his head in his hand, staring contentedly at his lover. All of the medical jargon went clear over his head, but somehow, he thought Steinman's rambling was adorable and gladly sat for the hour to listen to him. He thought it helped him take his mind off the awards.

"…You're cute when you talk about surgery," he said, sitting up and leaning a bit closer. "Then again, you're cute any time."

Steinman blushed. "Don't say things you don't mean."

"Why you always sayin' that to me? You think I'm always lyin' to you?"

"…I guess not. I don't know," the surgeon giggled, putting his pen down. Ralph smiled sensually at him.

"Hey…" he nodded towards his lap. "…Come over here."

"Oh? In your lap?"

"Yeah, in my lap. Come sit down and we'll talk about the first thing that pops up."

"You mean it hasn't already?"

"…Come find out," Barsetti chuckled, spreading his legs apart. John smirked, rising from the loveseat. He unbuttoned his shirt, Ralph receiving him in his arms as he went to him.

"Yeah, there's my bad boy," Ralph chuckled, pulling Steinman closer, his huge hands grasping either buttock. "Let's show 'em how to win the 'Rapture's Best Lover' award."

Sander Cohen stood by one of the tall windows in his apartment. Listlessly, he stared out to the glowing city. He rubbed his nose, running a handkerchief underneath it to check for any blood, even though it had stopped hours ago. Nothing, he was clear.

"…That medical monster," he grumbled to himself. Fitzpatrick entered the room quietly. He approached Cohen, placing a hand on his shoulder. The artist jumped a foot.

"Kyle! Don't do that! You know I hate when people sneak up on me."

"I-I'm sorry Mr. Cohen! I-I didn't mean to scare you."

"…Oh, nevermind." He turned back to the window.

"Are you alright, sir?"

"I'm fine, Kyle, I'm fine. Tired, though." He looked up at his disciple. "Were you able to do anything about my shirt?"

"Not really, sir. Blood's very hard to get out. I did the best I could."

"Hm…Steinman owes me a new shirt," he muttered. "Well, just let it soak overnight. See if you can't do anything more in the afternoon."

"I'll try, Mr. Cohen."

He smiled, placing a hand on Fitzpatrick's waist. "You know you only have to call me 'Mr. Cohen' in public and in the bedroom."

"…Sander," the pianist giggled, cheeks turning red.

"_You're so cute_. I can hardly control myself," the artist said sickeningly, pinching Kyle's cheeks. The disciple hugged him close, rubbing his back. "You were wonderful to-night, my dear. But, you need to work on playing _allegro_ when it says so. And watch your _prestos_, they're not quite fast enough in some places."

"Did it sound okay? I-I didn't ruin the piece, did I?"

"Not at all, not at all! Just a few places needed…my guidance. We'll work on it to-morrow, okay?"

"Okay…Sander."

He nestled into Fitzpatrick's chest, heaving a great sigh.

"…S-Sander?"

"Yes, Kyle my darling?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"But of course!"

"And…you won't get mad at me?"

Cohen set his features firm in the next instant. "…What kind of question?"

"…Um…I-I'm not the only man you take upstairs, am I? I'm not the only one you…share your bed with?"

The artist looked horrified. "Kyle! What would make you ask such dreadful things?!"

"Well, I guess—I just—I-I don't know, sir. I-I was talking to Mr. Barsetti at the bar, and he said—"

"Kyle…you listen to me." Sander gripped both of his shoulders, pulling him closer. "I don't want you associating with John Steinman or his Mafioso anymore. I can see they're bad influences on you. They're filling your head with nonsense."

"Well…but I—"

Cohen kissed him on the forehead. "Aren't I a good mentor, young Fitzpatrick? Hm?"

"The best!"

"And your mentor knows best, correct? You know I wouldn't tell you something that wasn't true?"

"Of course, sir."

"Good." Sander moved to his lips, kissing them tenderly. "…Now come…upstairs is where I need you…"


	22. Phase 22

Phase 22-September, 1958

Deputy Barsetti was feeling extra eager about his post for the day; he was to walk a beat around the Medical Pavilion and the neighbouring tunnels as well as run a monthly maintenance check on the security cameras and bots. Almost as soon as he got his instructions, he was off.

He made his way directly to the Aesthetic Ideals, airing on the side of getting his visit with Steinman done first so he would be free to patrol. He tipped his cap to Marcella, the receptionist at the front desk in the foyer, as well as all the nurses he happened to pass. Hettie looked less than thrilled when he said hello. Petunia was taking lunch so he wasn't able to greet her. He strolled inside the Ideals, whistling to himself. Playfully, he peeked into Steinman's office. He was staring intently at a large photograph of a woman's face set up on an easel under an overhead light. With a thick red marker, he was outlining areas of her face and neck. Ralph made a lot of noise when he walked, his handcuffs, weapons, and heavy boots made it virtually impossible for one to not hear him. The doctor cocked his head when the noisy officer entered.

"'Scuse me, Dr. Steinman, sir. I'm here to check your security system," he said, lowering his already deep voice officially.

"Oh, hello, Ralph," he said somewhat distantly, turning back to the photo. Ralph felt the tiniest sting in that the surgeon wasn't as enthused as he normally was. He felt better when he turned to meet him halfway in a kiss.

"Whatcha doin', Doc?"

"…This woman, Mrs. Valentine…I worked on her a few years ago. I'm just looking over some before and afters of her face. Oh…there's so much more I could've done," he said softly, chewing on the cap of the marker.

"Looks alright to me, I mean, as far as dames go. You got any appointments to-day?"

"Two, yes…"

"Well, I'm on patrol here to-day. Here to run monthly tests on your security, too. How many cameras you got again?"

"Four. Foyer, Surgical Savings, hallway, operating theatre."

"Any bots?"

"Three on standby in the foyer."

Barsetti inched a bit closer, touching his lover's waist. "…You okay, Johnny?"

He turned, smiling up at the brute. "I'm fine, Ralph. Don't worry."

"I do worry," he retorted, nuzzling him gently. "Well, if you need anything, I'll be around here for most of the day. If not, in the tunnels around the Pavilion. You gonna be home the regular time?"

"I might be just a little later."

"Okay. I uh…I love you."

"Love you, too."

The Deputy grimaced a bit, adjusting his cap as he turned to leave.

"Oh, Ralph?"

"Yep?"

"Could you pick up some milk on the way home?"

"Yeah, sure thing."

Deputy Barsetti entered the apartment at his usual time of eight o'clock. Yawning loudly, he shut the door, hanging his cap up.

"John? You—oh, wait. He said he'd be home late to-night," the big guard reminded himself. He lumbered into their room, changing out of his uniform. "Wonder what's for dinner, then? Guess I'll just have to heat-up some leftovers." Ralph moved on into the kitchen, eager to finally eat something. There weren't many choices, so he decided to graze until either John came home or he felt somewhat satisfied. Whichever came first.

Over the course of the evening, Ralph had fallen asleep on the sofa. He woke up with a start a little after one in the morning, plagued by anxiety and equally nervous dreams. Groaning, he heaved himself up from the cushions, turned the television off, and headed into his and John's room. Upon entering, he noticed Steinman wasn't there.

He was _still_ at the Medical Pavilion?

Feeling a mixture of frustration and anxiety, the big guard hurriedly dressed in his security uniform, and headed out of the apartment.

The Pavilion was very creepy after hours. Medical facilities gave him the creeps in general, but, something about the lack of human contact and the gently dimmed lighting put him on sn even greater edge. He only saw a handful of professionals around, working the night shift. Silently, he made his way to the Aesthetic Ideals.

The surgery was practically deserted. Petunia had gone home and so had the nurses, however, the light was on in the hallway and in Steinman's office. John wasn't inside, though; he must be in the surgical theatre. Barsetti crept cautiously down the hallway, on his guard. He saw his lover behind the thick glass window. Steinman was hunched feverishly over a body laid out on the table. The surgeon had a faint smile on his face as he held something up to the bright lights. Ralph wondered why in the world someone would be out getting maxillofacial surgery in the middle of the night. Steinman tilted whatever it was he was holding.

Ralph could plainly see that it was the client's entire face.

His stomach lurched dangerously, he tasted bile in the back of his throat. The guard immediately whipped around, slamming his back to the window. He slid down until he was seated on the floor. Barsetti squinted his eyes shut, trying to forget what it was that he had just seen.

"Oh, _Dio_…ugh…_perché_," he whispered to himself, rubbing his eyes.

He sat underneath for a long time, trying to fight his growing wave of nausea.

Finally chancing another look, he peeked carefully into the theatre once more. Steinman had vanished. So had the body and its severed face. A moment's wait saw Dr. Steinman emerging from the room underneath the operating floor. Ralph could hear him whistling to himself as he set about cleaning off his surgical instruments. Barsetti stayed put, staring at the floor.

The automatic doors parted for the doctor after a short time. He started as he discovered his lover sitting on the ground.

"Oh, Ralph! What in the world are you doing down here so late?"

"That's exactly what I came to ask you."

"Have you been here long?"

Ralph shrugged. "…I'd guess about ten-fifteen minutes or so."

"…You look a little green around the gills, Ralph. Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah, I-I'm fine, I just…" the guard sighed loudly. "John, what are you doing down here?! It's after one in the morning! And what were you doing with that body?"

"Oh, er…that. Well, you see, I just…look. I've been wanting a cadaver to practice on for some time now. The workers down at the morgue said she'd been lying on a slab for days. No one came to claim the remains. I bought her off of them in the name of medical practice. Now I can practice my art without having to worry about fickle clients accusing me of mutilating them," he said, suddenly becoming defensive.

"…It's too late for all this…" Ralph muttered so his partner couldn't hear him as he rubbed his temples.

"Anyway, I think I'm finished for the night. Let me get my jacket and we can go home."

Still trying to understand what had happened that night, Ralph followed in tow.


	23. Phase 23

Phase 23-September 1958

"That you, John?"

"Yeah! Just coming in!"

Dr. Steinman bustled inside, nudging the door shut with his heel, placing a large cardboard box down gently. Ralph came down the hallway, half-dressed in his uniform from the day.

"Oh, Ralph! You're home early."

"Um, _you're _home _late_," he corrected, hooking his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the wall clock. It read a little after ten o'clock, when he was usually home at eight. "You said you'd be home _a little_ later."

"Oh, is that the time?! I had no idea it was so late," Steinman said, aghast.

"Yeah. Um…hey, you okay, Johnny?"

"Yes, I'm fine, why do you ask?"

"You haven't been yourself lately. Like, you're staying late at the Ideals, you're kinda forgettin' stuff, and you look exhausted all the time."

"Well, I work long hours perfecting my skill and art."

"But, you never used to work this much."

Steinman shrugged, jingling some change in his pocket.

"Are you sleepin' okay at night?"

"I've been really only getting about three to five hours."

"That's not good, John. You should have at least eight."

"Don't worry, Ralph. I'm fine, I'm fine."

"Well…as long as you're sure."

They met in a light greeting kiss. Ralph cocked his head in puzzlement. "I have a surprise for you, Ralphie. Well, for us."

"Lemme guess…you're expecting?"

"No! Silly," Steinman said, rolling his eyes playfully.

"What's in the box?"

"The surprise."

Barsetti hovered anxiously over his lover as he pulled at the flaps. Reaching inside, he stood to his full height, a grey and white patched cat tucked under his arm. Ralph grimaced ever so lightly.

"That's the surprise?"

"Sure is! Isn't he handsome?" John leaned down, nuzzling the cat, the feline reciprocating, purring loudly. "…You look less than enthused."

"Eh…" the big deputy scratched the back of his neck. "…I'm not much of a cat person. I'm not really much of an animal person at all, really. I never had any pets, 'cept for a stray dog I'd sometimes feed when I was a kid."

"Oh, well, we might only have him for a few days. One of the nurses lives down near Apollo Square and she brought him in. She said he's been wandering around outside her place for the longest time, and, well…I thought I'd take him down to the animal hospital for her to see if we can't find him a good home. I'm afraid I'm too busy to keep him, or I certainly would."

Ralph sneered.

"You're not afraid of cats, are you?" asked John.

"No! I'm not afraid of cats. I just don't think they're…you know…manly."

The doctor continued nuzzling the kitty. "I happen to like them. You don't think I'm less of a man, do you?"

"Well no, of course not, I just…"

Steinman tucked the creature back under his arm, waiting cheekily for a response.

"…What're ya gonna call him?"

"Well, I was thinking maybe Patches, but, that's a bit typical, don't you think?

"I guess…"

The surgeon sighed, stroking the cat gently. "We'll find a name for you yet, little guy." He set the cat on the floor. Tail swishing back and forth, he curiously wandered around the den, sniffing every obstacle and every object.

"Careful where you step for the next few days, Ralph. You're so big, you're liable to crush the poor thing!"

The policeman stared down disdainfully at the feline. The cat stared back up at him, making a soft trill. Rolling his eyes, Barsetti lowered himself to the sofa, groaning as he got comfortable.

"What's for dinner, pudding shot?"

"Oh, I was thinking perhaps a little eggplant parmesan?"

Ralph immediately turned around, eyes wide.

Steinman laughed out loud. "I'll take that as a 'yes', then?"

"It certainly isn't a 'no'! Alright…" Ralph chuckled to himself, settling back down. He felt the lightest touch. Looking downwards, he saw the cat on his hind legs, resting his forepaws on his knee. He stared up at Ralph, almost as if he were asking permission to join him.

"Get outta here," he said softly, nudging the animal away with his knee. The next moment, the cat jumped onto the sofa, still swishing his tail and staring up at Ralph. The officer glared at it, turning his focus on the television.

"Here, kitty kitty! I've got something for you," John called out. The cat ignored him, still trying to get Ralph's attention. John moved around the sofa, holding a small can of tuna. Seeing that the other human had food, the feline instantly jumped down, following the surgeon into the kitchen. He placed it on the floor, the cat immediately devouring the contents.

"You're a hungry little snipe, aren't you?" chuckled Steinman. He filled a small bowl with water as well, placing it next to the cat, who chased the can around a corner of the kitchen area. Ralph grunted to himself, changing the channel on the television. Retaking his seat, he found the cat had returned to the sofa with him. He looked down upon the creature, who trilled again.

"What're you lookin' at?" he growled. The cat jumped up on the sofa, purring as he cautiously approached Ralph. He felt paws pressing into his thighs and the weight of the cat as he climbed into his lap.

"Eh, get outta here!" the worker grunted, pushing the cat away. The feline was persistent, though. He tried once more, placing his forepaws on Ralph's thigh. Just as the big man was about to shove him clear off of the sofa, the cat meowed. It was preceded by a quick trill and sounded more like a squeak. Barsetti stared down at the cat, lowering his hand. It squeaked once more, settling down in his lap. He lounged casually, letting one arm hang over Ralph's knee. The feline was warm, soft, and just wanted affection. The worker gave him one or two strokes, then focused back on the television.

Before long, Steinman had dinner ready. He rounded the sofa, slinging a towel over his shoulder.

"Oh, got yourself a little friend?" the doctor said.

"Well-I…he's just so comfy, I-I didn't wanna move him."

"If this is going to keep up, we're going to have a problem."

Ralph stared at his lover with puzzlement.

"…That's _my_ spot," chuckled John.

"Hey, there's more than enough of Big Ralphie to go around. Don't you worry."

"Well, dinner's ready, big guy."

The big guard acknowledged him almost instantly. Steinman watched discreetly from the safety of the kitchen as Ralph gently picked the cat up from his lap, placing him on the sofa as carefully as he could.

"Help yourself," John offered, placing a dish loaded with breaded eggplant slices coated in tomato sauce and melted mozarella cheese on the table.

"For veggies, these are so damn good," Ralph smiled, loading his plate.

"See? Vegetables are good."

"Especially when you make 'em. Still wish you'd use veal, though." He winked at the surgeon. Steinman giggled to himself.

"What?"

"Ralph, c'mon, no footsies while I'm eating!"

"I'm not doin' anything…"

They both looked under the table, only to find the cat rubbing roughly against Steinman's shins.

"What? I just fed you, you little snipe," the surgeon laughed. "I thought that was you, Ralph. Ralph?"

The guard stared down at the cat, a slight smirk on his lips.

"…Rufus," he said, breaking his silence.

"What's that?"

"…The kitty's name should be Rufus."

"Why 'Rufus'?" chuckled John.

"I dunno…just seems like a good name."

"Well, Rufus it is, then." He held up his wine glass. Ralph's met his in a quiet toast.

"John! You home?" Ralph bellowed, removing his cap as he entered the apartment. All was quiet; he must still be at the Medical Pavilion. Further investigation found the surgeon fast asleep on the sofa. He still had on his clothes from the day, his tie loosened. John was exhausting himself. For some reason, the last few nights, he'd been staying very late at the Ideals. When Ralph enquired as to what he was doing, he merely smiled and replied with, "Perfecting my skill and my art." He really wasn't taking another year without being named one of the "Best and Brightest" well at all.

"Rufus? Hey, Rufus. Where ya at?" he whispered. Stripping himself of his uniform, he headed into the bedroom. He found the kitty asleep on the bed, curled into a tight ball. Ralph tossed his uniform on a chair, taking a seat at the foot of the mattress.

"Hey, Rufus. How ya doin'?" he cooed, stroking the sleeping feline tenderly. "Kitty, kitty…"

Rufus awoke, stretching his lithe body out and yawning. He immediately began purring as he registered Ralph's touch. Barsetti listened to his own stomach growling.

"…I'm hungry. How 'bout you, Rufus? Eats sound good to you?"

The feline merely stood up, arching his back as he stretched.

"C'mon, let's go raid the 'fridge."

Rufus jumped down from the bed, following the security guard into the kitchen. He found another can of tuna in the pantry. He smiled as he felt Rufus's paws on his thigh. The cat desperately reached towards the countertop, wanting some of whatever the human had, regardless of what it was. Jerking it open with a can opener, he placed the tuna down by the dish of water. Rufus was upon it in an instant, devouring the fish hungrily. Ralph smiled, scratching behind the cat's ears as he ate. He stood, rounding on the sofa. He watched his sleeping lover contentedly. Pulling the blanket from over the loveseat, he pulled it over John's slumbering form. Ralph squatted down beside him, gently stroking his hair and his neck.

"…You work yourself too hard, Johnny. Nobody's perfect…and nobody's gonna be perfect." With that, he kissed him on the temple and rose to his feet. Unbuttoning his jeans, he got comfortable on the armchair, reclining. "Guess I can wait for eats," he yawned, placing his hands behind his head. Rufus, having finished his tuna, jumped up onto one of the chair arms, purring loudly as he licked his chops.

"Hey, lil' guy," chuckled Ralph. The kitty trilled, taking cautious steps onto the big human. The cat sprawled luxuriously on the guard. "Well, I hope you're comfy. Hell, you've got enough room there." He yawned loudly. "…Wake me up when dinner's ready," he instructed the cat, closing his eyes.

Twenty minutes later, Barsetti was awakened by the phone ringing. Groggily, he sat up, picking up the receiver.

"Doc Steinman's place…" he said wearily.

"Oh, er…is this Ralph Barsetti?" a familiar, timid voice asked.

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"It's Kyle Fitzpatrick."

"Oh! Hey, Kyle! Sorry 'bout that. I didn't recognise ya. I just sorta woke up."

"Oh! I-I didn't wake you or anything, did I? Are you angry with me?"

"No, no, no! Hold your horses, Kyle. You're fine. So, how's tricks?"

"Well, um…the reason I called is…um…are you, er…do you have any plans to-night?"

"Um, I don't think so. Why?"

There was silence on the other line.

"…Mr. Cohen's going to be out to-night. He said something about wanting to film something with Silas and Martin. Anyway…I'm going to be here alone to-night, and I was wondering if maybe…if you weren't busy…and if you were comfortable…perhaps you'd want to spend an evening with me?"

"Oh, I see. You wanna have like a slumber party or somethin', eh?" grinned Ralph.

"Well, y-you don't have to spend the night, if you don't want to. If you're uncomfortable or anything, you can just—"

"I think it's a great idea, Kyle. John's been workin' himself to the bone, so I think he needs a night to just sleep without me buggin' him. Sure, I'll be over in two shakes. Sound good?"

"Good! I'll see you then. Um, you might want to wear your security uniform, so the guards at the entrance don't give you any trouble. I don't know if they'd let me allow you inside. I think they need Mr. Cohen's permission for that."

"Alright. No problem. See you in a little bit, Kyle."

"See you then!"

Fitzpatrick was certainly right. All it took was a quick flash of his badge, and the guards were practically rolling out a red carpet for him. It was smooth sailing inside the Mercury Suites. He knocked on the door to Cohen's apartment. In all honesty, Ralph was excited about the coming night. John hadn't been home and when he was, he was either cranky and bitter or sleeping. He also hadn't been "in the mood". As he waited, Barsetti noticed a man sitting behind what looked like a pair of binoculars on a post on the second floor. He had thick coke-bottle glasses and a comb-over, a bag of Salty's potato chips on his lap. The man appeared to be watching the entrance to the tall elevator in the middle of the complex. Ralph shrugged the matter off, leaving the creep to his own devices. Kyle finally answered the door, smiling brightly when he saw the big officer.

"Boy, am I glad to see you!"

"Likewise, Mr. Fitzpatrick."

"Come on in."

The door slid shut behind him, Kyle switching on the lock.

"Did the guards give you any trouble?"

"Nope. You were right, good thinkin'." Ralph smiled, holding out his arms. Fitzpatrick blushed lightly, meeting him in a tight hug.

"Looks like we're both alone to-night, eh?"

"…Now we're not…"

Ralph couldn't help but chuckle at his host's bashfulness.

"Um…have you eaten at all to-night?"

"Nope. John was asleep when I came home and hadn't made anything for either of us. I'm starvin'!"

"I made veal parmesan for me and Mr. Cohen, but, then he called and told me he wasn't going to be in to-night. You can have his portion…if you want it, I mean."

"That sounds swell, Kyle! John makes a pretty mean parmesan. He's only made veal for me a couple of times. His is usually eggplant. I'd like to see how good yours is. I've heard you're pretty keen with a stove too."

"I hope you like it. Come with me," he said, heading down a short hall into the kitchen. Ralph stopped a moment, staring at a long series of framed photos. They were mainly of Cohen and the various stars he'd worked alongside or cast, award ceremonies, the like. There were a few of him with his four disciples. He even saw one of him Cohen had taken back during the infamous "model night". Barsetti sneered lightly, wishing it wasn't there. Fitzpatrick exited the kitchen, staring at the photos as well.

"Cohen's sure been around the block," Ralph said.

"He did very well on the surface, but, he wasn't as famous as he should have been. He's brilliant." Pausing for a moment, he placed his index finger on the wooden frame of Ralph's photo. He took a moment or two before explaining himself. "…I really like this photo of you."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm. I uh…I suggested Mr. Cohen put it up. Not only is the composition and the lighting nice…it's just a good photo of you. You're very photogenic."

"Oh, well…thank you, Kyle. I'm glad he put you in the back over there. Two handsome studs in one frame? Damn."

"Gosh…" giggled the disciple. "Are you still hungry?"

"You bet! I just got distracted is all. Lead on."

The young pianist sat down at the head of the long counter. The guard pulled his stool in, eyeing the plate that was waiting for him.

"Wow, this certainly looks good. Smells good, too!" he smiled, picking up his fork.

"Would you like anything to drink?" offered his host.

"Got any Old Harbinger?"

"I'll go see. I'll be right back."

Ralph shoved a forkful into his mouth, chewing eagerly. "…Kyle?"

"Yes?"

"I'm killing Mr. Cohen and taking you home with me."

"Oh, don't do that!" laughed Fitzpatrick.

"This is great!"

The disciple returned with two bottles in his hand. "Um…Silas left some 123 here. Is that okay?"

"Sure, no problem."

"So, it's good?"

"You bet! I hate to break it to ya, but…it's not quite as good as John's, but this is definitely up there! I'd eat anything you made in a heartbeat!"

"I figured I wouldn't be able to level with him, but, I'm glad you like it."

"I love it."

Kyle twisted the caps off of both bottles, handing one to Ralph. His cheeks flushed as he felt the guard's hand skim over his.

When Barsetti was through eating, they adjourned to the den, sitting on the sofas by the piano. Kyle sat opposite, one leg crossed over the other as he stared down at his clasped hands. Ralph lounged on the other, picking his teeth as he watched Fitzpatrick. Kyle cleared his throat softly, staring sideways out one of the windows.

"Slow down, chatterbox. We got all night," Ralph joked.

"I'm sorry. I'm just…I'm not really a good conversationalist."

"Well, in the mean time, why don't you play me somethin'? You're so talented and I love your music."

"Um…okay? What would you like to hear?"

"Oh, I dunno. I don't really know a whole lot about music."

"Well, you heard 'Cohen's Scherzo No.7' at the 'Best and Brightest' gala. He said I need to work on it, anyway. Hm…" Kyle thought for a moment, making up his mind rather quickly. He began a steady, driving piece which Ralph found very soothing. He watched the younger man as he played. The big Italian was awed by the dexterity and speed of his hands, never seeming to falter.

The piece lasted for a good eight minutes, Fitzpatrick turning to his audience and clasping his hands together again.

"Say…that was really, really nice, Kyle."

"Thank you. I wrote it. It's called 'Abstraction'."

"Man, I wish I could play the piano," Ralph sighed, leaning on one of the sofa arms.

The disciple shrugged. "I could teach you one or two things."

"What, 'Turkey in the Straw'?"

Kyle shrugged, proceeding to play it quickly. They both laughed together. Ralph instantly tried to think of more basic songs, jokes, anything that would make Fitzpatrick smile some more. He thought he was positively charming.

"Here, one more."

The tall pianist played another, shorter song. It was more in the vein of a slower jazz piece than the classical one before.

"That's what I'm talkin' about. I love jazz and that sorta stuff," Ralph smiled.

"It's another song Mr. Cohen wrote. It's called 'The Four Seasons'. He said he wrote it about us, his disciples. Me, Silas, Martin, and Hector."

"Aw, that's cute."

"…He even said he wrote a song about me, too. Well, only me."

"Is that so?"

"Mm-hm. He won't teach me how to play it, though." Kyle got up from the bench, retaking his seat. He was only there for a moment, before relocating to a spot next to Ralph on the other sofa.

"…I'm really glad you came over to-night, Ralph. I like you. I-I don't really like to be alone."

"Me either. I like my alone-time on the occasion, but, mainly it's the pits."

"…Mr. Cohen's been out a lot lately. And I see him with Silas a lot."

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

"You worried he's the new favourite?"

"Well, he was a disciple before I was. I'm the newest in the group. Silas is a lot more…he's more of a free-spirit than I am. He's more outgoing, more talkative. He likes to go to parties, and drink…and he talks about—sex—more than I do."

"Yeah. He's a pretty sexual guy, isn't he?"

"Yes. It makes me uncomfortable."

"Just remember what I told you, back at the bar, and you'll be fine. I promise."

"I hope so. Thanks." Here, Fitzpatrick smiled wanely.

"Hey, you a cuddler, Kyle?"

"…Why do you ask?"

"…'Cuz I wanna. I'll look pretty stupid huggin' _myself_."

Timidly, Fitzpatrick laid down on the cushions. Ralph leaned up against the arm, staring down at the young pianist. He took one of his long, graceful hands in his.

"…I don't think Cohen treats you as well as he should."

"Mr. Cohen treats me fine."

"I mean…romantically-speakin'. Why are you so attracted to him?"

"He's wonderful, Ralph. He's fun, entertaining, talented, creative…lots of things. He supports me and encourages me…he also loves me. I love him too. Most of all, well, I told you this before, he's a father-figure to me. On the surface, my father never really had time for me; he never _made_ time for me. He was a very popular lawyer and was always working."

"What did he think of you playin' the piano?"

"Surprisingly, he said he would support me, but he never really did. He paid for my lessons and everything, but he never came to my recitals or even took a few minutes to listen to me at home. He showed his 'love' for me through material things, rather than hugs or attention. I don't even remember him tucking me in, giving me a kiss good-night, or anything like that." The disciple paused, biting his lip. "…Mr. Cohen's almost always got time for me. He teaches me and he likes the way I play."

"…At least your dad didn't beat you. That's how my dad said 'I love you', by getting smacked or kicked. And he _really_ loved us."

Kyle didn't reply.

"Did you have any siblings?"

"An older sister. She was ten years ahead of me."

"Did you have a ma?"

"Yes, but she was always working as well. She was a model for Sears-Robeck and Gimbels."

"Wow."

Fitzpatrick shrugged. "I know it's not very respectful to say, but, I think she cared more about her career than she did us."

"Who took care of you?"

"I had a nanny. She was from England."

Barsetti nodded. He nuzzled the younger man gently, hugging him tight. "Sorry…'bout all that, Kyle. I bet they'd wish they had you back if they knew about you now."

The pianist shrugged. After a minute or so, Ralph smiled victoriously to himself as he felt Fitzpatrick wrap his arms around him. The guard gripped him even tighter, grunting softly.

"…That was a good hug, kiddo."

"…I haven't been hugged like that in…well, ever."

"I care about you, Kyle. I consider you one of my closest friends. I wanna make sure you're happy and bein' treated right."

The disciple paused for a frustratingly long time. When he finally spoke, his cheeks were bright red. "…I-I feel the same way about you, Ralph." A beat. "Um…Ralph?"

"Yep?"

"…I've really been wanting someone to talk to. But I always feel like a burden when I try to ask, especially when it's Mr. Cohen. C-Can I talk to you?"

"I fancy myself a pretty good listener. Tell me everything, from start to finish."

Kyle Fitzpatrick poured his soul out to Ralph in the following two hours. He laughed, sobbed, and raged as Barsetti listened to his entire life story. They sat side-by-side on the sofa, or occasionally against a shoulder when Kyle came upon a particularly difficult or unpleasant memory. After hours of talk and a few more beers, both men made their bed on the sofa, cuddled up protectively against the other.

Ralph awoke some time later. He was still nestled into Fitzpatrick's neck, hugging him close. Groggily, he looked straight ahead, rubbing one eye.

Sander Cohen was seated comfortably on the sofa parallel, watching them with a sly grin.

Barsetti immediately started, sitting up. The quick, rough movements woke Kyle. He gasped when he saw his lover on the opposite sofa.

"Oh! M-Mr. Cohen, i-it's not what it looks like! We weren't-we were just-and I was—"

"Calm yourself, young Fitzpatrick. I'm not angry with you in the least."

By now, hot tears had found their way to the pianist's eyes.

"In fact, I was rather enjoying watching you two spoon. I only wish it had gone a little further…"

"What time is it?" asked Ralph, searching for a clock.

"Half-past four in the morning."

"Four?!" both of the younger men exclaimed.

"Did I miss out on your long evening?"

"We didn't do anything but cuddle," growled the guard.

"Oh, too bad. I was busy with Silas and Martin…filming."

"And did it go well?" chanced Ralph.

"Mm…it did. Thank you for enquiring," the artist grinned, stretching himself out luxuriously.

"You're sure you're not angry with me, Mr. Cohen? W-We didn't do anything intimate!" pleaded the young pianist, kneeling by Cohen's sofa. Sander smirked, reaching out and chucking his chin.

"Absolutely not, Mr. Fitzpatrick! I'm glad you had some company to-night. I'm sorry I had to leave you all by your lonesome. The artist has a duty, after all."

"Your art is worth it, Mr. Cohen. All of it."

"Come here, Fitzy. I want you with me."

Kyle immediately scrambled up, making himself comfortable behind Cohen, snuggling in tightly. The artist nuzzled him, stroking his face gently. When he saw Ralph was still waiting, he chuckled.

"Er, don't you have an insane surgeon to tease?"

"John_ isn't_ insane…" growled Barsetti, buttoning his tunic.

"Denial…I always thought it was cute." He turned his back to Ralph before he could reply, continuing to shower the young pianist with affection. The guard turned to leave, listening in.

"…You're my favourite, Kyle. I hope you know that."

"I do, sir. Thank you, sir."

_Bullshit_, thought Ralph as he exited the lavish apartment.

Back home, Steinman was still asleep on the sofa. He was sprawled out on his stomach, snoring lightly. Rufus had curled up alongside him, fast asleep as well. Ralph sighed, squatting down by his lover's side. He shook his shoulder gently.

"John…Johnny…John—"

The surgeon awoke with a start, looking around frantically as hair fell over his eyes.

"What? Where? What time is it? Is it six? I-I have to get ready for work!"

Ralph took his shoulders, holding him firmly in place. "No. That's one place you're not going. Not now, not later, not to-day. You're gonna march right into our room and go back to sleep."

"How long have I been?"

"…I'd guess since a little after eight. At night."

"What time is it?"

"Four-thirty in the AM. C'mon, don't fight me. We're going to bed."

Steinman nodded slowly, allowing his partner to help him up. They walked to their room together. Ralph pulled back the covers, John collapsing as soon as he did. The guard pulled them over, tucking him in gently.

Steinman met up with Ralph in the kitchen in the afternoon, settling into a chair opposite him.

"Hey there, Rip. Sleep well?"

"Eh…I suppose I needed it. I don't think I've ever slept that long in my life."

"You're wearing yourself out, John. You told me you've only been getting three to five hours." Ralph got up, rounding on the counter. "Here, I made you some coffee."

"Oh, good. I could sure use some."

"…You're not feelin' sick at all, are ya, Johnny? Like, you're not runnin' a temperature, are ya?"

"No, I'm not ill. Just tired."

Barsetti kissed him on the forehead, pulling up a chair next to him.

"…You know I love you, John."

The surgeon smiled, placing one of his hands down hard on Ralph's. "…You know _I_ love _you_."

The guard smiled brightly. "Are you hungry at all?"

"I am, actually. I missed supper last night."

"Want me to make you a nice, big sandwich or somethin'?"

"…I'd like that. Thank you, Ralphie."

After their quaint lunch, John looked at the calendar and the day's date circled in red.

"Oh! I have to go give Mr. Backus the rent. Hold down the fort, alright, Ralph?"

"You got it, babe."

Steinman patted his shoulder roughly just before exiting the apartment. As soon as he had left, Ralph immediately scrambled up from the sofa, practically running into the bedroom. He pulled a long string from his pocket, looking around feverishly.

"Rufus? Rufus, where'd ya go, you little scamp, you?"

The cat poked his head out from under the bed, looking up at Ralph with his large, blue eyes. He trilled, creeping out from underneath.

"Look what I gottt…" teased Barsetti, holding up the string. Rufus's eyes got wider, watching the bobbing string intently. He stood on his hind legs, batting at it with his paws.

"Ooh, almost got it! …Ha! Too quick for ya! …Hey! Gotta piece of that one, didn't ya?"

The big guard laughed heartily as he played with the cat. Trilling, Rufus suddenly sprinted out of the room and down the hallway.

"Uh oh, where'd he go?" Ralph chuckled, climbing off the bed. "Where's Rufus?" he called out, voice ringing in the hallway.

The feline peered from around the corner of the back room, crouched down behind the doorframe.

"…There he isss…"

Barsetti got down on his hands and knees, hiding behind the doorframe of the bedroom. In the next moment, Rufus tore down the hall. Ralph growled, surprising the cat as he arrived at his position. Rufus jumped a foot backwards, paws spread, and tore back into the den. The Italian laughed harder than he had in months, holding his stomach as he rolled on the floor.

"Did you see that?! Lookit him go! He's all fuzzed! What a creep…" He was too busy laughing, he didn't hear the door open and his lover enter.

"Ralph? Are you alright?" he asked, hurrying to the bedroom.

"Oh, yeah! I'm fine, Johnny. Whoo, that was funny."

"What?"

"…Nothin'," grinned the policeman.

"Hm…you don't look very comfy on the floor there."

"I been in worse places."

"I bet you'd be more comfortable, say…on the sofa? On the bed?"

"Bed works." Ralph was instantly up on his feet. He and John got cozy together, snuggling on top of the comfortor. Barsetti took one of his lover's hands, stroking his hair with the other. "You got to-morrow off, too, Johnny?"

"Well, I was scheduled to take it off…I was scheduled to take the next two days off, but…"

"But what?"

"…I really think I should go in at least for a little while. Do one or two operations—"

"John, c'mon! You've been workin' your ass off all week. You're takin' to-morrow and the next day off. You owe it to yourself. I've got to-morrow off, too."

"Alright, alright! If you insist…"

"I do."

"…Speaking of which, an interesting thing happened at the Ideals the other day. Well, I should say, an interesting person came in."

"Oh?"

"Yes. All that was on the schedule was 'Eldridge-ten o'clock'. I just as well expected a routine consultation involving either a growth removal or some sort of reconstruction, but, in walked this man, a rather attractive man. He had a timid desposition, rather small, form-fitting clothes, and he was wearing makeup. Do you know what he wanted? He wanted sexual-reassignment surgery."

"No kiddin'?"

"Not at all. I've had quite a few reassignment surgeries, but, something about this case struck me in particular. Francis, his given name, poured his soul out to me. He explained how all his life, he'd been miserable as a man. He was so certain he was born into the wrong body. He told me about how he was always teased as a child because he played with girls, carried himself like one, and so on. He went on to tell me he'd recently broken up with his partner of eleven years because he wanted the surgery to make him a woman. Mr. Eldridge told me he'd never been satisfied with intercourse as a man and felt the only way he could be happy was if he was a woman. His lover wasn't supportive because he was homosexual and wanted a man. Poor thing…he broke down and cried for quite a few minutes. I couldn't help but feel so…sorry for him. I shed one or two tears as well." Steinman paused, staring ahead. "…It was fascinating. He was just so miserable in his own body. I'll never forget when the operation was complete, I finished yesterday. When he came around, and he saw himself for the first time as a woman…he sobbed his eyes out. But not out of misery…out of ecstasy. He threw his arms around me, called me a 'genius', 'magician', all sorts of compliments. But do you know what else he called me?"

"What?"

"…Liberator."

"…That's like, hero, right?"

"Well, it's someone or something that brings about freedom. In his case, it was freedom from the bondage of his male body. I'm so grateful for ADAM. With it, I can sculpt and sculpt and sculpt until the job is done. You wouldn't even have known he was born a man if you saw him now."

"You'll have to show me some before and afters next time I come in."

"I will. I submitted them to the Rapture Medical Journal. Mine always get in."

"I'm sure they do."

"I told him to come by in a week or so. I want him to fill me in on how his new life is going. I told him around noon, so perhaps you can meet him…I mean her."

"…_You_ don't wanna be a dame or anything, do ya, pudding cup?"

"No! No, not me. True, I've often wondered what it would be like if I were, but, I'm quite happy being a man…with a man, might I add."

"That's a relief!"

Steinman laughed, hugging his lover closer.

Later that night, the lovers got ready for bed together. Ralph stripped down to his undergarments and undershirt, slipping into bed. Steinman changed into his pyjamas, leaving momentarily, brushing his teeth at the bathroom sink. Rufus, being mischieveous, jumped onto John's side of the mattress.

"Hey, Rufus!" greeted Ralph, reaching out and stroking him. The cat quickly settled down up next to him, purring contentedly. "You sleepy, too, Rufe?" enquired the guard. The feline merely shut his eyes, his purring softening. "Yeah…me too." Ralph yawned, switching his lamp off, pulling the blanket to his shoulder, and snuggling down into his pillow. John returned, shutting his own lamp off and crawling into bed. He was prepared to cuddle up with his big lover, when he discovered their feline friend was in the way. Smiling, and as gently as he could, he picked Rufus up, moving him to the foot of the bed. Steinman reached over to his table, winding his alarm clock for the morning. When he had turned back, Rufus had shot back to his spot, curling up once more. The surgeon frowned, removing him for a second time. This one was more successful, and he wrapped an arm around Barsetti's girth. Their peace didn't last for long, for the kitty returned, standing on top of John's shoulder, purring loudly.

"Go away…" he murmured, burying his face into Ralph's back. The cat didn't budge, meowing. "Go _away_," he tried a bit harsher. Still no compliance. Grunting, he picked Rufus up, setting him on the floor. Sure enough, the cat was back once more, stepping on the doctor and being a general nuisance. Steinman nuzzled even further into his partner's neck, trying to ignore the persistant pussycat.

The next evening, Steinman nearly tripped over Ralph, on his hands and knees by the sofa. He gripped his hips, catching himself, causing Barsetti to jump a foot. He immediately turned, staring up at his lover.

"Ralph? What in the world are you doing down there?"

"I uh, I-I wasn't doin' anything. I uh…lost, some change! And I was lookin' for it," he said, hurriedly groping underneath the skirt of the sofa.

"Oh…and here I thought you were presenting."

Hearing a soft scratching, a pleased smile wound across the surgeon's face as he saw Rufus tear around the corner of the sofa and lay into Ralph's wrist. The big man laughed out loud, taking the feisty feline into his strong arms. He sighed lightly.

"…You two were playing…weren't you?"

"…Alright, you caught me. He's not such a bad little guy. He's really growin' on me."

"See? I told you cats weren't bad."

"Yeah…I take back what I said."

John wrapped an arm around his lover's shoulders, stroking Rufus's chin as Ralph held him in his arms.

"…Damn…are we a couple of faeries or what?"

"Rapture's finest," agreed the surgeon, reaching up for a kiss. Barsetti met him half-way.

"Damn right." Ralph nuzzled Rufus. "Wufus likes it when I wub his belly, yes he does! Yes he does!"

"So do you!" Steinman giggled, tickling Ralph.

"Hey, hey! Knock it off! I gotta kitty in my arms!" laughed the worker. He set Rufus on top of the sofa, laughing loudly as John tickled him, forcing him onto the cushions. Steinman ceased, giving them a chance to catch their breath.

"Walphie likes it when I wub his belly, yes he does," the surgeon said, mocking his lover.

"…Yes he does," repeated Barsetti, reaching up and stroking his cheek.

"Ralphie, I know this won't be welcome news, but…" Steinman rubbed his partner's stomach. "You have _got_ to go on a diet."

"Psh, I don't go on diets," Barsetti retorted, closing his eyes and snuggling down on the sofa.

"Oh? We'll see about that…" the surgeon promised quietly.

"Oh! Uh, John? There's somethin' I wanted to talk to you about."

"What's on your mind, Ralphie?"

The big guard ran a hand through his hair, heaving a sigh. "…C'mere."

Steinman nervously followed his lover to their room, whereupon Barsetti sat down on the bed. He opened his drawer, fetching out the gene tonic Sullivan had given him. The surgeon favoured him with a look.

"I thought you said you didn't like plasmids or tonics, Ralph."

"I don't. But…Chief Sullivan gave me this. I think he said it was called 'Armoured Shell' or somethin'. He said all of his men have taken in. It's supposed to help protect me from damage. I didn't want to at first, but…" he offered his arm with the wrecked tattoo. "…After the raid, when I got hurt…after seein' you so worried and scared…I decided that maybe I should just take it. My job ain't easy, I know that, and I wanna be able to come home to you at night."

"…So, you're taking this for me?"

"Basically…yeah. Well, me too, I guess. I wanna be alive so I can be with you. You were on my mind when he gave it to me…and during the raid, when I got wounded. Thinkin' about you kept me goin'. It's what helped me get Fontaine."

Steinman's lower lip quivered as he tried to hold in his tears.

"…I'm kinda scared, though. I wanted you to be with me when I took it…just in case."

"The initial side-effects aren't quite as extreme as plasmids, but…they're still not so easy. I'll be here, Ralph. If you just stay calm, everything will be alright."

"…Have you ever taken a tonic before?"

"You said that was Armoured Shell?"

"Mm-hm."

"I've actually taken it, too. Call me paranoid," he smiled kindly.

"How was it?"

"…You're going to convulse. Probably not as badly as I did, seeing as you're bigger and stronger. You probably won't be able to speak or really have any control for the duration while it rewrites your genetic code. The sensation might cause you to vomit. You'll most likely fall unconscious, for how long, I can't say. I can hardly describe to you how it feels. There's nothing like it in the world."

"Good or bad?"

Steinman stared at him uneasily.

"Bad, huh?"

"Ralph, don't do this if you're not comfortable. Even without it, our medicine is advanced enough to heal most injuries on the spot. You know that."

"…But what about if I gotta full-on brawl with some of those splicers? They're like outta a horror story or a dime novel or somethin'."

"…I suppose."

Another sigh. "Convulse? Is that like thrashin' and stuff? Like what crazy people do?"

"Well, there is thrashing movements. Not unlike the seizures that accompany epilepsy."

"…I'm scared," chuckled Ralph with a weak smile.

"…Don't be. I'm here."

The guard stood, pulling his shirt off of his torso. "Don't wanna get upchuck all over my shirt if it happens."

"Perhaps you should sit on the floor? That way, you won't collapse."

"Good thinkin'." Barsetti lowered slowly to the floor. "…Just hope we don't bother the neighbours underneath us."

Steinman had to smile at this. His lover pulled the cap off the blue tonic, sizing it up as he held it in his hand.

"Well…here's mud in your eye."

He tipped it back, finishing it in only a few swallows. "Not so bad," he shrugged his shoulders.

The bottle dropped from his hands. His pupils dialated and his breathing grew more and more rapid, heaving at a dangerous speed. Grinding his teeth and stiffening, he twitched and convulsed violently on the floor. Amidst the thrashing limbs, John managed to seise one of his hands, gripping it tightly.

"Hold on, Ralph. Just hold on," he chanted, trying to restrain him where he was able.

Two trails of bile cut lines from the corners of his mouth. Steinman shut his eyes as tightly as he could; the scene was too hard for him to watch. He kept a firm grip on the big Italian's hand, though. That, he could never refuse.

…

When Barsetti finally came to, he was lying on the floor in their room. Head spinning and body aching, he groaned as he turned onto his back. Steinman sat by his side, stroking his damp hair.

"…S'it over?" he murmured.

"Yes, Ralph." Here, he smiled. "…You're okay now."

The brute smiled as well, looking down at their clasped hands. "…Eh…fuck."

"How are you feeling?"

Ralph smacked his lips, grimacing. "…Did I get sick? Tastes like it."

"Yes, a little bit. I had to clean you up a bit; it's a good thing you took your shirt off. Here," the surgeon said, hurriedly handing him a glass of water. Ralph took a few sips as he sat up, swishing it around in his mouth and spitting it back. Ignorant to the whole ordeal, Rufus entered the room with a trill, striding right up to Ralph.

"Hey, Rufus," he greeted softly, scratching behind his ears.

"Look who came to check-up on you."

"Ah, he don't care," Ralph said, picking Rufus up and nuzzling him. "He don't care about big daddy and his gene tonics. No he doesn't." The cat jumped from his arms, sniffing at the dresser.

"Maybe you should climb into bed and get some rest, Ralph."

"Eh, I'll be okay."

"But, we don't know how your body's going to react, seeing as you've never taken a gene tonic before."

Well, if somethin' more happens, we know what it's from," stated the brute as he hoisted himself up. Steinman offered a hand, helping him to his feet. "I lived through the mob, federal prison, and World War II. It's gonna take more than a little blue bottle to stop me. And now…I got even more strength. I feel bad for the next guy who tries to pick a fight with big, bad Ralphie-boy."

Dr. Steinman woke up the following morning to find his lover sitting at the kitchen table, reading the paper.

"Oh, aren't you working to-day, Ralph?" he asked, puzzled.

"Nope, got the day off," he smiled, lifting his glass of orange juice before downing it. John sidled up next to him, placing an arm around his shoulders and meeting him in a light kiss.

"How are you feeling, honeybear?"

"Terrific, pudding cup! I haven't felt this refreshed in a long time!"

"Are you sure? No side-effects? No changes in vision? No blindness?"

"Nope, none of that. I'm healthy as a horse."

"Did you eat already?"

"And I eat like one too. Made myself a sandwich a couple minutes ago."

"Look at you, all grown up," teased John, loading the coffee pot.

"Hey, I know how to make myself stuff. I just don't do it very well," Barsetti retorted, folding the paper. He rose to his feet, rounding on his lover. Before he could move in for the kill, Steinman turned, catching him by the waist.

"Oh, Ralph? Since you're feeling up to it, I need you to do something for me to-day."

"Does it involve a ball-gag and a blindfold?"

"No, unfortunately. I need you to take Rufus down to the animal hospital to-day so the veterinarian can give him a check-up and put him up for adoption."

Ralph looked hurt, looking over to the cat, who was lying on the arm of the armchair, one of his new favourite spots.

"…You mean, we're not gonna keep him?"

"I'm afraid I can't, Ralphie. I'm too busy and now that you have a position as a security guard, we won't be home enough to take care of him." He leaned up, kissing the brute on the cheek. "I have to run down to the Aesthetic Ideals real quick. Why don't you do it now, since you've got nothing to do?"

"…But John, I—"

"It's up across from the flower shop. I have to go finish getting ready. I'll bring you his box so you can head out."

John disappeared into a back room, leaving the guard alone with the cat. Ralph mournfully strode up to the armchair, squatting down until he was just about level with Rufus. He stroked one of his soft cheeks gently, listening to him purr loudly.

"…I like you, Rufus. I don't wanna give you away."

Steinman reappeared, holding the cardboard box.

"Ready?"

"Yeah…I guess," he mumbled, accepting it.

"I know, honey. You two have gotten pretty close since I brought him home." He gripped the collar of his lover's flannel shirt, kissing him on the cheek. "But it's for the best. Run along, now."

Without another word, Ralph picked Rufus up and placed him in the box, on his way.

Ralph wished Walter the elevator operator a good day, nodded to the doorman, and stepped onto the bathysphere platform.

"Excuse me! Could you hold it a moment!" a voice called out. Ralph saw a man in a suit hurrying towards him. Barsetti placed a hand on the doorframe, stalling it from shutting.

"Thank you," the newcomer nodded, taking a seat. "Oh, where are you headed?"

"Uptown."

"Good. As am I."

The man sighed with relief, making himself comfortable. He looked to be about the same age, with a comb-over of the remaining black hair on top of his head and a thin black moustache.

"Where are you headed?" he enquired.

"Uh, animal hospital. How 'bout you?"

"I own the dry-cleaners uptown. Rollins' Dry-Cleaners?"

"Oh, yeah, I think I know the place. Can't say I've had much to get dry-cleaned in my life, but, I know the joint."

"Jacob Rollins. Here's my card, if ever you do," he smiled.

"Thanks."

A rustling came from inside the box. "Okay, okay," chuckled Ralph, opening the flaps. He pulled Rufus out, placing him on his lap and petting him. Rollins grimaced, tightening up.

"What's the problem? Afraid of cats?"

"I'm not afraid of them, I'm highly allergic! If it gets near me, I'll never stop sneezing!"

"He's with me. I won't let him go."

"See that you don't."

Ralph narrowed his eyes slightly, nuzzling Rufus. Luckily, Rollins got off the bathysphere before too long. They had it to themselves for the rest of the ride. Ralph let him wander around the interior, packing him up when it docked. He sauntered all the way to the animal hospital, feeling a bit misty-eyed. He'd openly hated cats before John brought Rufus home, but in the short three days they had him, his opinion was drastically altered. He rather enjoyed his company, especially when John wasn't around or in the mood. Rufus had a habit of standing on his hind legs and pawing Ralph's knee before jumping up to join him on the sofa. He often let the feline curl up next to him or in his lap while watching television, they took naps together quite frequently, and he almost always slept on Ralph's side of the bed, furiously trying to snuggle up next to him, fighting with Steinman for the position. He wanted to keep the kitty in the worst way. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he entered the building.

The place seemed vacant, save for a lady sitting with a small dog in her lap. The timbre of barking and whining dogs echoed from the back. An employee in white scrubs entered from the left, looking through a clipboard.

"Oh, hello!" he said cheerfully. "What can I do for you?"

"Hey…" Ralph paused for a moment. "Um, I brought in my cat. Uh, he was a stray and I was just…" Another pause. "…I was just wondering if I could, you know, get him some tags or somethin', to let everyone know he's mine."

"No problem! Lemme just get someone who can help you with that. I'm just a tech," he said, rolling his eyes playfully.

"Yeah, thanks," Ralph smiled.

"Have a seat, make yourself at home," the tech offered, passing through another door, calling for "Nadine". Ralph lifted Rufus out of his box, nuzzling him once more. The lady's dog growled as he saw the cat. Rufus paid no attention to him. The big man moved seats to the opposite side of the small room, rather offending the lady. Luckily, she was called in only a few minutes later. A women entering middle-age settled into the seat at the front desk.

"You're the one who wants to register your pet, correct?" she said.

"Oh, uh, yeah. That's me," he answered, standing.

"Well, come right over here and we'll get everything handled, honey." She poured over the feline as Ralph placed him on the desk. "What a cute kitty you have here, honey! He's so handsome."

"Yeah, he is pretty good-lookin', isn't he?"

Rufus purred loudly as Nadine stroked his chin. "I have two tortoise-shells at home." Ralph didn't have a clue what that had to do with cats. "Come on back here, honey. We'll get things settled."

Ralph had learned from the vet that Rufus was about two years old and was in decent health, save for a small infection that had recently sprung up from a missing tooth and some worms he had in his intestines from picking out of garbage cans. He was promptly issued some antibiotics to fight them both. Barsetti picked out a thin blue collar for him and heart-shaped tag with Rufus's name on the front and Steinman's number on the back. Shaking hands with the vet and the tech, he wished Nadine a good day and headed out.

"…I wonder what John's gonna say when we get back home," he thought out loud as he got settled with his cat in the bathysphere. "Well, I couldn't help it. I couldn't stand to see you go," he concluded, rubbing noses with Rufus.

Steinman had returned home mere minutes before his lover did. He was just taking off his jacket when the muscular guard bustled inside.

"Hi, hon. Did they take Rufus?"

"…No…"

John cocked his head. Barsetti pulled the cat out of the box, cuddling him close. "…I did."

The surgeon shook his head, chuckling airily. "I knew you were going to come back home with that cat."

"Don't judge me, man. He had a missin' tooth and some wormies in his belly, but the vet fixed you all up, didn't he? Didn't he!" After giving Rufus a kiss and setting him back on the ground, he lowered his bulk to the arm of the sofa, placing his hand on Steinman's waist. "Hey…got any plans to-night, baby doll?"

"Hm…I'll have to check my schedule, I should really go back in…" Steinman looked thoughtful for moment.

"Well, you know, instead, how 'bout you and me…get dinner and a few drinks at the bar? Then go for a stroll in Arcadia, eh? Maybe the Tea Garden will be empty?"

"Well…I'd love to, but—"

"Johnny. You. Me. Date. To-night. No work. _Capiche_?"

"…Sounds like a wonderful idea, Ralphie."

"Good. Pick you up at say…eight o'clock?"

"It's a date."

"Excellent."

Barsetti tied his tie perfectly, just the way Steinman had taught him. He smiled to himself, cinching it to his neck, flipping his collar back down.

"Hope he still thinks I'm hot…" he said to himself, rubbing the belly his black vest tried desperately to hold. He examined himself in the mirror, smiling. "Hey…think I've lost a few pounds. Hope so. I'd like to get skinny for Johnny. Maybe I will be by March, when his birthday rolls around." He sighed, leaning against the dresser as he looked towards the ceiling, staring at nothing in particular. "Mm…Johnny, Johnny, Johnny…I'm the luckiest guy in the world…oh!" Barsetti hurried over to his bed-side table. Digging through it, he grinned as he pulled out a long box. Opening it, he nodded in approval. "Yeah…my baby's gonna love this. I've put him through so much trouble since meetin' him…I hope this night can help make up for some of it. God, do I love him!"

Unbeknownst to Ralph, John stood just outside the door, listening to his monologue. Smiling to himself, he slowly headed back to the bathroom to finish getting ready. As he continued playing with his hair, Ralph slipped inside quickly.

"Hey, pudding cup! Almost ready?" he asked, slapping him on the rear and moving on into the den.

"You can't rush beauty, hon," replied the surgeon airily.

"Damn right!"

"Where are we going to-night?"

"We've got eight-thirty reservations at the Kashmir."

"Are you sure you want to go there, Ralphie?"

"It's no big deal, pudding shot," he said, staring at his reflection as he ran his hands over his greased-back hair.

"But you always complain about how expensive it is. Not to mention the last time we were there, you started a brawl."

"Well, it's not so bad now, now that I got a Deputy Chief of Security's salary."

"…How true."

"And I've learned to better pick my battles." Ralph collapsed on the sofa with a sigh. Rufus appeared a moment later, trilling as he stared up at the big human.

"C'mere, Rufe," he said, patting his thigh. The cat did so, purring as he climbed onto Ralph's lap. "Hello there, my widdle baby-boy! You're my widdle boy, yes you are, yes you are!" Barsetti said disgustingly, rubbing his nose against the kitty's. "C'mon, let's go see daddy." He meandered to the bathroom, holding Rufus in his arms.

"Oh, Ralph! Put Rufus down!"

"Why?"

"He's a _white_ cat and you're wearing a _black_ vest and pants! You're going to hair all over!"

"Eh, what's a little hair?" the brute challenged, giving his cat a kiss or two. John smiled at him kindly, shaking his head.

"What're you shakin' your head for?" challenged Barsetti.

"You and that cat…"

"You gotta problem with me and that cat?"

"You two are just so cute is all."

"Yeah? Well, I love my boys," the guard answered, wrapping his arms around Steinman.

"I love my big daddy."

"Think I'd look good on one of those tin cans?"

"Hardly! Then we wouldn't be able to hear your sexy voice…or see your handsome face…"

"Handsome? Please. In _that_ case, maybe I _should_ get one of those helmets…"

"Stop."

They kissed tenderly on the lips.

"At least it would hide my unsexy body," Ralph then said.

John wrapped his arms around his lover's girth. "Hey! You've lost a little bit of weight already; my fingers meet."

"Does this mean I can stop eatin' all that veggie stuff?"

"No. Not until we get you down to a healthy number."

"Aw, c'mon!"

"Ralph, eating right's the only way, seeing as you won't take the slim-down plasmid!"

"I already took a gene tonic…_that_ was a trip. I don't know if I wanna go through with that again."

"See? Then you need to eat right."

"Well, okay…but I'm orderin' a nice, big steak to-night."

"Ralph—"

"End of story. You're not gonna stop me."

Steinman picked his battles, and this one wasn't a good choice. He emerged from the bathroom, smoothing out his suit-coat.

"Ready, baby doll?"

"Yes. Oh, you said eight-thirty, correct?"

"Yeah. Well, I'm ready too. Wanna take the scenic route?"

"…I do."

Smiling, Ralph ushered his lover out of the apartment, blowing Rufus a kiss good-bye.

The pair wandered through the system of tunnels and businesses on their way to the restaurant. It was next to the Medical Pavilion, so they both could have found their way there blindfolded. Many of the tunnels were relatively empty, giving them a few chances to hold hands or waists as they strolled. As they passed by a small screen, an advertisement for the Aesthetic Ideals reeled.

"Hey, who's that handsome devil?" Steinman said jokingly, gesturing loosely to the screen.

"I don't know…but I envy whoever his partner is," Ralph replied. They then shared a look, nuzzling warmly.

Once they were just outside the restaurant, they sneaked a peek over the railing, spying on the current act that was being played out at the Footlight Theatre. They only watched for a few minutes, the Act being over and the crew taking a small intermission. One of Ralph's hands found its way to Steinman's belt, a few fingers slipping underneath, not going very far.

"Hey look, guys! It's the faeries!"

The couple heard taunting and laughter, and close by. The small contingent of cackling cretins hung about in a tunnel near the Kashmir's entrance.

"Hey Ralphie, nice gut!"

"He can't see what he's doin' when he's bonin' that doctor's ass!"

"Aw, look! Dere's his girlfwiennnd!" one mocked in an exaggerated tone.

The last comment added more fuel to the fire. Ralph narrowed his eyes underneath his fedora. He'd known that group personally back at the docks.

"He's cute, Ralphie-boy. Does he squeal like a bitch?"

"I bet he does."

The guard looked down at his lover. Steinman's face was a deep, deep red. His jaw was clenched shut, as were both of his hands. Ralph placed a protective arm around his shoulders, pulling him a bit closer as they moved on towards the restaurant.

"Aw!" the group chorused.

"Too good for the docks, Ralphie?"

"Too desperate for a stevedore and a mobster, Doc?"

"Show us your stockin's, Doc!"

"Yeah! Toss us one o' your garters!"

Barsetti halted. Turning back to the men, he pulled John to him, leaning down.

"Ralph! What are you doing?!" he whispered harshly.

"Well, they keep eggin' us on, and we're right next to a theatre…why not give 'em a show?" With that, he pressed his lips to Steinman's. This sent up a wave of disgust from the workers.

"Ewww!"

"Ugh, nasty!"

"Outta the way, I'm gonna puke!"

"Think I'd rather look at _that_, mate."

Giving them a final sneer, he wrapped an arm around the surgeon's waist and continued forth, leaving the haranguing behind.

They were seated quickly at a nice, private table by a small fireplace.

"Ah, this is nice, isn't it, Johnny?" Ralph said, warming his hands.

"…Mm-hm," came a reluctant reply. The former's smile dropped a bit, but found its way back as he tried to lighten the mood.

"So! What're you in the mood for, Johnny?"

"…I er, I've lost my appetite, Ralph," he sighed. John rested his head on his hands, staring listlessly into the fire. Ralph set his menu down, running a hand over his hair. "I'm so sick of being harassed! Ohhh…" John dug his fingers through his hair. "…I don't want people to find out! I don't want to be in the tabloids or put in the detention cells!"

The big Italian sighed. "…You wanna go home? Or, you want me to sit at another table?"

"…No, Ralph. I just want this to stop; all this torment."

"…John? John."

Steinman looked up, his eyes moist.

Ralph nodded towards the lounge by the restrooms. "C'mere…"

Curious, the surgeon followed him. Luckily, it was clear, save for a man exiting the "Gents" stalls. Tucked neatly behind the pay-phones, Ralph hovered over his lover, staring down into his brown eyes, one elbow on the wall.

"Listen, Johnny…it's tough. If you're a homo, you gotta be a warrior, too. A fighter. You can't let people, _the world_, bring you down. You just can't. I know it's hard. I've had to go through a lot more hell than you, 'cuz I'm a little bit more open about it, here and on the surface. That's why those chumps knew. They can call me fag, faerie, queen, poof, cunt, whatever. But, no matter how many names they spit or how many punches they throw, it's not gonna change me. It's not gonna change the way I feel about other men…about _you_." He tapped Steinman's chest, right over his heart. "You just gotta hold your head high, shut 'em out, and keep on walkin'. Don't worry, I'll make sure nothin' happens to ya. You'll be fine. I'll take care of you."

Two tears slid down Steinman's face, as a smile slowly found its way to his lips.

"And with me as your rock, heh, you got nothin' to worry about. Nothin'." Ralph tenderly kissed both of the tears away, tasting the light saltiness. "There's my sweet pudding cup's smile." He nodded back to the table. "C'mon. Let's enjoy."

They strolled back to the table together, the surgeon in lighter spirits. A young waiter approached them clad in a black apron and a tuxedo that was at least a size too large for him. He spoke with a crisp, English accent.

"Good evening, my name's Peter, I'll be serving you to-night. Can I start you off with something…to…" he trailed off, staring wide-eyed at the surgeon. "…Oh my gosh! You're-You're Dr. Steinman! You're Dr. J.S. Steinman, aren't you?"

"I am the same."

"Oh my gosh! I-I've been told you've been here a few times, but I've only started working two weeks ago! Oh, wow! It's such an honour to meet you. M-May I shake your hand?"

"Certainly," smiled John, accepting.

"I'm an apprentice to Dr. Sylvester Finneran. I'm only a nurse, now, but I'd like to be a physician someday. D-Do you know him?"

"He's an acquaintance of mine, yes, but we work in different parts of the Medical Pavilion."

"Oh, my…it's such a pleasure to meet you, sir!"

"Why, thank you, Peter."

He pulled out his pad and a pen. "Can I start you both off with something to drink?"

"Sure. What would you like, Doctor?" Ralph offered.

"Oh, er, I don'think I'm really in the mood for something. I'll just take a glass of ice water."

"You sure?"

"Yes, Ralph. Thank you."

"Hm. Well, alright then. I'll take a Raspberry Martini, please."

"Yes, sir, coming right up."

"…He's cute, eh?" Barsetti chuckled, nodding towards their waiter as he departed.

"Not bad."

"So, do you like getting all this attention when you go out, or does it get annoying after a while?"

"I don't mind it. I like to be the centre of attention, as long as it's good attention, mind you."

"How come you don't want anything to drink?"

"I'm still a bit unnerved from our…from that verbal attack."

"Oh…" Ralph nodded slowly. "I thought it would help. But, I guess I can understand."

Peter returned momentarily, setting the drinks down. "How's it taste, sir? Everything to your liking?"

"Oh yeah! This is excellent, thanks!" the Deputy smiled.

"Are you both ready to order or do you need a few more minutes?"

"I know what I want. How 'bout you, John? All set?"

"I am, yes. I'll have the lobster tail, please. And, what's the soup of the day?"

"French onion, sir."

"Ooh, I'll have that as well."

"How about you, Officer?"

"I'll take the porterhouse. Thanks."

"And how would you like that done?"

"Medium-rare, I want it a little pink on the inside."

"Alright. Thank you," Peter smiled as he took their menus. Ralph stared keenly at his date.

"…C'mon, John. I know you wanna drink. I can tell."

"I'm fine, thank you."

"You think you can fool me? Not gonna happen. Tell the nice young man what you want." The waiter made to continue forth, but Ralph touched his arm. "The doctor would like a drink, if it's no problem."

"Not at all. What's your pleasure?"

"…I'll have a Grasshopper."

"Sure, Doctor."

"Ooh, good choice! I might have one of those later," chuckled Ralph. "You know, my brother and I, when we were, like, fifteen-ish, we'd go down to the bars and try to pass as adults. We'd always ask for Grasshoppers because it was one of the only ones we knew of."

"Did you ever get one?"

"We did, actually, once. But the bartenders were usually too smart for us. One time, a guy gave us a combination of Coke, hot sauce, pepper, and oregano. Ugh, we never asked for stuff there again."

John laughed. "I bet!"

Barsetti reached under the table, placing a hand on his partner's knee. "…Feelin' better, Johnny?"

"…Yes. Yes I am."

"Good."

The wait for their meals wasn't long at all; then again, the restaurant was relatively empty.

"Oh man, I can't remember the last time I had a big, juicy steak!" Ralph laughed, taking up his fork and knife.

"That's a big steak, Ralph. Ugh, I'm cringing at the thought of what it's going to do to your cholesterol level."

"I'm droolin' at the thought of what it's gonna do to my belly. I love my meats!"

"It's not going to do any better for your belly, either."

"Hey, I've lost a couple pounds already, you said so yourself."

"Well—"

"See? Admit it. I hate to say it, but I think your diet's workin'. Not to mention my job's been helpin' too. I had to chase a guy through Apollo Square yesterday."

"You did? You never told me about that, Ralph!"

"Sure did. He wasn't listenin' when I told him to 'freeze', so, had to chase him. It was great! I tackled him clear to the ground like Jim Thorpe and brought him back to the station myself."

"Without any help?"

"Nope. Tackled him, cuffed him, and dragged him through the Square all the way back to the cells. Couple others yelled at me, callin' me 'pig' and stuff. Some kids thought it was boss, they were cheerin' and clappin' for me."

"Do you get along well with the children around your beats?"

"Yep. They always ask to see my pistol and my badge and stuff."

"You don't let them handle the pistol, though, correct?" John cautioned.

"I always make sure it's not loaded if I do. I ain't thick," he answered, bringing his drink to his lips. "They call me Mr. Ralph."

"Eh…I'm still not a big fan of children. I doubt I ever will be."

"Aw, but the ones on my beat are so cute, Johnny—"

"Eh."

"…I do have a favourite, though. There's this little boy at the end of my route. Cutest thing I've ever seen. Brunette, adorable, softest brown eyes I've ever had the pleasure of starin' at."

The doctor gave this some more thought. "…You said at the end of your beat…"

"The tale-end."

"…Does he live in Apollo Square?"

"Nope."

"It's me, isn't it, you big bear."

"Hey, told you he had the softest brown eyes I ever seen."

The couple giggled foolishly as they had a quick spat of "footsies" under the table.

At the end of the meal, both men pulled out their wallets at the exact same moment, as if on cue. Like any couple, paying for meals out was a constant battleground.

"Johnny, we do this every time," Ralph said, rolling his eyes playfully.

"I don't mind."

"_I_ asked you on the date, _I'm_ payin'."

"Well…if you insist."

"I do," said Ralph with a wink.

Their waiter returned momentarily after their dispute. "Can I get you gentlemen anything else? Dessert? Coffee?"

"Oh, I'll take a cup of coffee," Steinman said. "Er, decaf, with cream, no sugar."

"Yes, sir. Anything for you, sir?"

"Oh, wow…uh…yeah, ya know what, I think I'll have the triple-chocolate brownie."

"It's very, very good! Very rich," Peter added with a smile. "I'll be right back with them both."

"I thought you were observing a diet, Ralphie," Steinman said.

"Hey, we're on a date, can't I have a break once in a blue moon?"

"…Well, you've already ordered it, haven't you? And you insist on paying."

The server was prompt with their dessert, placing them by their respective recipients, slipping them both their checks tucked into a leather sleeve.

"Oh, no, I'm payin' for the good doctor," advised Ralph. "Sorry I forget to tell you."

"Oh, um…okay? I'll uh, be right back," the young man said.

"No problem. That's my fault."

The surgeon stirred his coffee, watching his lover from across the table. Ralph eagerly took the first bite of a massive brownie neatly drizzled with chocolate syrup and sprinkled with crushed cashews, the plate garnished with mint leaves and other coloured syrups.

"This is almost too pretty to eat. _Almost_," Barsetti said, his voice muffled slightly from the dessert. "Wow, is this good!"

"Better than mine?" challenged Steinman playfully, sipping from his mug.

"This is pretty good, but yours are still the reigning champs. And you don't wanna grill me a steak, so I got nothin' to compare it to. But I'm sure it'd be better."

John couldn't help but blush ever so lightly as Ralph winked at him.

"Hey, you wanna bite, babe?"

"Well…alright, why not."

Making sure no one was watching, Ralph separated a piece with his fork. He fed it sensually to his partner, dotting his upper lip on purpose.

"You got chocolate in my moustache, Ralphie!" laughed the surgeon.

"Good! It'll make our furious, inevitable make-out session later tastier."

The young waiter returned, gently setting the tab next to the guard. The big Italian studied it through a mouthful of brownie.

"May I see?"

"No way, Johnny."

"Come now, I just want to know how much it was."

"Don't matter to you, you're not payin'."

"I still want to know.

"Not happenin'," taunted Barsetti, fishing out his wallet. Steinman tried desperately to watch him sift through the bills, but Ralph always managed to slip it underneath the table, out of sight. He eluded his lover until their young server returned.

"Thank you, sir. I'll be right back with your change."

"Nope, you're fine," Ralph corrected, placing his hat back on his head. The boy stared at the money inside the sleeve with widened eyes.

"Wow! T-Thank you, Officer!"

"That's Deputy Chief to you. Just kiddin'. My name's Ralph, I don't always need my title. And you were very pleasant…Peter, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir!"

"That, and you got a pretty face. Hope to get you again the next time we come here. Ready, Doc?"

"Yes, Ralph."

"Take care, Pete," Ralph winked, heading out behind Steinman.

"Thanks, Ralph!" Before they could exit, Peter worked up enough courage to approach them a final time. "Er…Dr. Steinman, sir? M-May I please have your autograph? I-I just love your signature."

"Of course, Peter. May I borrow your pen?"

"You bet!" The boy hurriedly handed it off, tearing a sheet from his pad and flipping it over to the blank side. "Wow…thank you so much, Doctor!"

"My pleasure, Peter. Have a wonderful evening."

"You too!"

Unfortunately, the crew of workers were still in the same spot the pair had left them in. They were also still in the same taunting mood.

"Look who's baaack," chided one.

"Have a nice date, queens?"

"Check the bathroom. That's probably where they ate."

"Nah, they were too busy scopin' out cock all night at the urinals."

"Hey—" one of the men grabbed the nearest worker, gripping a handful of his hair in one hand. He stood behind him, bucking against his rear and moaning mockingly.

The man "receiving" played along, rubbing his nipples through his dirty shirt. "Mm-mm-mm! I love plastic surgery…and big, juicy cocks!"

Ralph stepped forward, pulling his hat down a bit a further. He seised the back of the man "giving's" shirt, throwing him against a table. Bending him over, he pressed one of his huge hands down onto his neck, holding him in place.

"Nah, you're doin' it all wrong. Here…I'll show ya…"

"What? Gerroff, ya big faggot!"

"Yeah, that's right…keep whinin'…" Ralph ran his index finger down the crease of his buttocks. "Hey, Johnny! You want some? I think we can both fit inside this one."

The man's eyes widened.

"If not…no trouble…we can make 'em fit."

Steinman, who had been silent through all of the taunting, finally grinned. "…Excellent suggestion, Ralphie. I love a bit of fresh meat."

"Gerroff, gerroff me!" the man hollered, trying his hardest to thrash. Ralph was many times stronger and held him fast to the table.

"Ooh, this one's a fighter, ain't he, Johnny? I like that."

By now, the group was taking flight. One man lagged behind, pointing an accusing finger. "I'm gettin' the po-leece! You won't get away with this!"

"Where ya goin'?!" whined the man underneath Barsetti. Steinman stared up at him.

"The bathysphere's just downstairs. Let's continue."

Ralph appreciated the more adventurous than fearful tone his lover was using. "You got it, babe. Let's fly." They left the man alone, tearing down the hall and down the staircase.

"…Cowards! Faggots!" screamed the man, shaking a fist as he stood up.

Once they were inside the vessel and on their way, the pair burst out laughing. Steinman fell into Ralph's lap.

"Man, Johnny! Did ya hear him whinin' like a little bitch when his friends took off?"

"I sure did! How about the look on his face when you said we could _both_ have him?"

"Man…we're crazy."

"_You're_ crazy," Steinman retorted, smiling as he took one of his lover's big hands.

"…No argument."

Barsetti and Steinman entered their next stop, the Arcadia Tea Gardens, hand in hand. They strolled casually, giggling as they recalled fond memories or caught a glimpse of the other's eyes. The surgeon hung his suit-coat on the back of a wooden bench. He hopped up upon the stones guarding a box of roses, his attitude boyish and innocent, yet sensual. Stretching both his arms out to balance, he skirted the length, stopping at the end stone. Ralph followed underneath him. Steinman jumped and landed squarely on the next planter, taking a precious moment to adjust his eyeglasses and make sure his pocket-watch hadn't escaped. He grinned slyly at his lover.

"Not bad for a plastic surgeon of forty-three, eh?"

"I still say you're like twenty-five or somethin'."

He took Ralph's hand as he stepped down into his arms. "I have a very good friend to thank for that. His name is ADAM."

"All this stuff can't be that bad if it makes you look so sexy."

Steinman smiled, turning his back and lifting up his arms. Accepting the invitation, Ralph slipped his hands around him, clasping them at the front, just above his groin.

"…Remember all this, Ralphie?"

"Damned right I do."

"Our first date."

"Back when I was a jerk."

"You weren't a jerk, Ralph. A bit rough around the edges, a bit forward, but…you were just being yourself."

"Anybody lookin'?" he whispered in his ear, resting his chin on one of his partner's shoulders.

"Nope. We're alone."

"Any security cameras or anything?"

"Hm…I don't see any. No."

Steinman shrieked as Barsetti picked him up with ease, tossing him over his shoulder. Ralph growled playfully, hulking around the place.

"Are you going to take me back to your cave and have your way with me?"

"Mm…Ralph hungry—" He adjusted John, holding him now in his arms. "…Ralph want John!" They took turns growling at each other, inching closer until their noses touched.

"Ah…you can put me down now, Kong."

"Uh, I don't think so, Fay. I gotcha now."

"You can't carry me around all night!"

"…Is that a challenge?"

"Well, if you won't comply, then I guess there won't be any more alcohol this evening."

Ralph immediately put him down.

"…I'll be right back, honeybear."

"I'll wait for ya, pudding cup."

The big Italian got comfortable on a bench, stretching out his arms. He heaved a massive, contented sigh. "Wow…can life be any more perfect?"

John returned with a bottle of Arcadia Merlot and two glasses.

"Guess that answers my question," he chuckled to himself. Steinman sat up next to him, pouring out the wine. Their glasses clinked together softly in a toast.

"Oh, Ralph, here. I want to teach you something."

Barsetti's sip was halted. John threated his arm through Ralph's bringing the glass back to his lips. The guard took his sip, arm linked with the surgeon's.

"What was that all about, Johnny?"

"It's a German thing."

"That's cute…" Ralph leaned in, kissing Steinman's lips, his tongue gently pushing against his. "…_That's_ an Italian thing."

"I thought it was French."

The big guard sat up straight, flexing his massive chest and his bulging arms. "…You ever seen a Frenchmen built like this?"

"…I stand corrected." He reclined on the bench, setting his wine glass on the ground, keeping a protective hand to it. Ralph hovered over him, unfastening a few buttons on his shirt and vest. John slipped his opposite hand underneath the fabric, rubbing the strong chest muscles.

"Seven months, Ralphie."

"We gonna try for seven more?"

"I want much more than seven."

"I second that. Guess this is one thing I haven't lost yet: my lover."

The surgeon smiled, giving him a squeeze.

"Hey…why don't we go in the corner over there? Be a little more comfy, outta sight, too."

"Sure."

Barsetti let his lover up, heading with him to a small alcove.

"…You're so pretty, sunsets must've looked at _you_," said Ralph.

"…You've got the ship, I've got the harbour, what do you say we dock for the night?"

"Did it hurt, you know, when you fell from Heaven?"

"Would you like the milk in the front or the back, sir?"

"You must be made of sugar, 'cause you're so sweet!"

"…You're the most handsome man I've ever met and I'm deeply in love with you."

Ralph was fully expecting another sappy pick-up line. They kissed affectionately, Ralph gently holding his partner's cheeks, Steinman's arms around his waist.

"Hey, Johnny?"

"Mm-hm?"

"I uh…I gotta little present for ya." Ralph pulled the long box from inside his vest, offering it to his lover as they sat down. "I know you're not really religious or anythin', but, I thought I'd get ya a little early Christmas present."

Steinman favoured him with a slightly bewildered expression. "What in the world is this for?"

Ralph shrugged. "'Cuz I love ya."

The surgeon opened the box slowly. He slapped a hand over his mouth, muffling his gasp. Barsetti inched a bit closer, eager. Steinman removed a golden watch-chain from the velvet box, staring at it dumbfounded.

"Ralph! I-I've had my eye on this for months! Months! I've never told you about this! H-How did you know?"

Barsetti chuckled, wrapping an arm around his lover. "Because I'm your big honeybear…I know what my little pudding cup wants." He nuzzled him lovingly. Steinman was upon him in the next moment. Forcing his lips against Ralph's, the big guard was knocked over.

"I love you, I love you, I love you, Ralph Barsetti!" yelled the plastic surgeon.

"…I love you, too, John Steinman."

He watched fondly as the surgeon pulled his watch from his pocket. Fiddling with it, he removed the old chain and replaced it with the new one. It matched the golden watch nicely.

"Oh, it's so lovely. How do I carry it, Ralphie?"

"Wonderfully."

Steinman chuckled, clicking it open. "You know, my father bought this for me, when I was going away to university. He gave it to me before I left. He told me, 'John…well, Johann…now you are denied any reason for not being on time when your patients need you."

"Oh, so that's why you say that. You're always tellin' me 'you're denied any reason for' yadda yadda."

"…I guess so. My father said that quite often. Ralph, it's beautiful, I love it." John smiled, crawling into his lover's lap. Barsetti cradled him, nuzzling his cheek against his. It didn't take him long to enquire about what had been running through his mind for most of the evening.

"J-Johnny?"

"…Yes, Ralph?"

"…I wanna lay you down right here. Will ya let me?"

"Here? But Ralph, this is a very public place!"

"We made love in your office at the Ideals, didn't we?"

"Well, true…but that's a little different. We did it behind a closed door, no one could see us. Oh, but Dr. Grossman saw us."

"He didn't see anything."

"Well, he heard us!"

"No he didn't."

"Ralph, he—"

"Didn't see anything, hear anything…and he doesn't know anything. Remember? The Pavilion Director caught him? He thought he was the one doin' the dirty."

"Oh…" Steinman smirked. "That's right! I almost forgot. I was afraid; I thought I'd be next. So far, he hasn't called me to his office."

"…C'mon…" Barsetti suggested. His hand slid downward, unbuckling Steinman's belt.

"Ralph—"

"C'mon. I can feel how hard you are." He gripped the bulge behind the surgeon's fly. John looked up into his eyes. The guard smiled seductively, unbuttoning his own fly. "C'mon, Johnny."

"Whatever happened to 'no means no, lady or gentleman'?" challenged the doctor.

"It still holds true, and it always will…if you didn't want it just as badly as I do."

Steinman averted his eyes for only a moment, trying desperately to fight the smile arising to his face. "…It's a damn good thing I don't play cards with you."

"…Never gamble with en ex-mobster," Ralph grinned, unbuttoning his vest, pulling his suspenders from his great shoulders.

"How's this, tough guy?"

"G-Getting close…"

"Still unsure?"

"…Never." Steinman's eyes squinted shut as Ralph added a bit more strength.

With satisfied groans, the two lovers relaxed, their bodies still connected.

"…That was cruel, Ralph Barsetti…drawing it out like that…"

"What can I say? I like to play dirty."

"…That was one of, if not _the_ best, orgasm I've…I've ever had." He propped himself up on his elbows, reaching up to plant the tenderest and most affectionate kiss he could on the big guard's lips. "Thank you, honeybear. Thank you so much."

"Anytime, pudding cup, you know that."

"…I love you, Ralph."

"I love you too, John. And you were right. I _did_ taste chocolate in your moustache."

They exited the alcove, buttoning their shirts and vests conspicuously. Ralph held up John's suit as he pulled it back onto his shoulders. A worker approached them, a confused frown on his face.

"Excuse me, but the Tea Garden is closing in five minutes."

"Oh, we know, we were just on our way out. Thank you," Steinman said. The disgruntled employee missed the wink that passed between the two men as he followed them to the entrance.


	24. Phase 24

Phase 24-November, 1958

The bed jostled gently. Ralph opened his weary eyes, staring up into Steinman's brown irises as he hung over him.

"Happy birthday, Ralphie!" he said cheerily.

"Hey…you remembered!" Barsetti laughed sleepily, turning onto his back.

"How could I forget? Wait until you see the surprises I have for you to-day…"

That being said, the surgeon jumped off the bed, picking up a tray waiting on the dresser. It was loaded with massive portions of breakfast foods: eggs, bacon, French toast, waffles, a banana, and a tall glass of orange juice to round her out.

"Oh, wow! What a spread! Thanks, pudding cup!"

"Anything for the birthday-boy. To-day's _your_ day," John said, pinching one of his cheeks.

"Hm…does that mean I'm gonna get pounded so hard, I won't be able to sit down for a week?"

"_We're _going to be pounded so hard, _neither_ of us will be able to sit down for a _month_," corrected the surgeon sensually.

"…Ralphie like…" nodded the brute stupidly.

"Now c'mon, eat up! You'll need your strength for catching bad guys and then for to-night!" John said, ruffling his lover's already mussed hair.

Steinman lay next to Ralph as he finished his breakfast, making light conversation and giving him light kisses. Rufus even joined them, Ralph feeding him a small piece of bacon. Steinman cheekily produced a wrapped gift from inside his vest, handing it to his partner.

"Oh, no. What's this for?"

"For your birthday!"

"I don't deserve any presents," Ralph mumbled, gently tearing at the bright paper. He unwrapped an expensive-looking silver watch. His mouth hung open lightly.

"Oh no, John…how much did you spend on this?"

"I'm not telliiing," sang the surgeon.

"…Is this real silver?"

"I wouldn't settle for anything less."

"Wow…I mean…wow. Thanks. Thanks a lot, dear," Ralph smiled, planting a long, wet kiss on his cheek.

"Well, since you got me such a nice watch-chain, I thought I could at least return the favour."

"You didn't have to."

"I don't have to do anything. I _wanted_ to."

When he was finally finished eating, Barsetti pulled on his uniform, undressing and dressing in front of his lover.

"…Sexy policeman," Steinman giggled lustily. Barsetti licked his lips, rubbing his massive pectorals through his olive drab tunic.

"Mm…I can't wait for to-night, honeybear."

"Neither can I! You makin' my favourite for my birthday dinner?"

"Don't you ever get tired of lasagna? You ask for it every holiday or occasion!"

"It's damn good!"

"Well, if you want it, I'll make it."

"Excellent." Ralph pulled his cap down on his head, then buckled his pistol on his hip. Steinman got up from the bed, slinking out into the hallway seductively. Ralph was hot on his trail, following him down the hall. In the kitchen, he growled playfully, picking him up in his arms. Steinman laughed out loud. Having calmed down, they undertook a series of light kisses, ending with a much longer one. The guard held the doctor close, rubbing his nose against his.

"You get off at the regular time?"

"Mm-hm. Do you?"

"Eh, I might be a little later. We'll see."

"Okay, honeybear.

"_Arrivederci_, pudding cup."

"_Tschuß_, honeybear."

Tipping his cap cheekily, Ralph elegantly exited the apartment.

"What a goon," Steinman said to himself, rolling his eyes playfully.

Deputy Barsetti strolled through Apollo, shoulders square and head held high. A beat at the Square meant that he didn't have to wear the cumbersome rain gear used at the docks and places infamous for leaky pipes. He touched the brim of his hat politely as a lady passed. Ralph sighed contentedly to himself.

"Never thought I'd ever be in a uniform like this. Never thought I'd ever have my life straightened out…" he said quietly, folding his arms over his barrel-chest as he surveyed the street. He felt the gentlest tug on the skirt of his tunic.

"Excuse me, Mister?"

Looking down, he discovered a small girl at his side. Smiling, the security guard squatted down until they were at eye-level.

"What can I help with, sweetie?"

"Some big kids threw my dolly up there. I can't reach him." Ralph's eyes followed her hand as she pointed to a low-hanging clothesline. A tiny, scruffy-looking thing hung between two articles of clothing. The guard smiled kindly.

"You just sit tight, little missy. I'll get him down."

She watched anxiously as he found an old crate, setting it underneath the clothesline. Climbing on top and reaching above him, he was able to nudge the doll until it tipped to one side, free of the line. Barsetti caught it with his free hand, grinning to himself. It was a strange little thing; a knit little man with what looked like wires and corkscrew fragments of metal decorating it. The girl squealed with joy, reaching upwards eagerly.

"There ya go, little lady. Safe and sound."

She hugged it close as tightly as she could. "Thank you!" Giggling, she scurried off, holding her dolly above her head.

"…Cute," he chuckled, continuing his beat.

Further down the strip, he passed a group of workers huddled at a corner, most likely on a break.

"Hey, Piggy! Oink, oink!"

"I smell bacon!"

Ralph turned towards the accusing voices. He remembered: he was instructed not to use force unless struck first. The big guard narrowed his eyes menacingly at the trio. The jeering men soon forgot their taunting, two of them staring at the guard closely.

"…Ralph?" one cautioned. "Ralph Barsetti? Big Ralphie?"

"Yeah? What?" The words he spoke were more commanding than questioning.

"What are ya doin' wearin' that pigskin?"

"…I joined the force."

"You don't work the docks no more?"

"Yeah, what about Fontaine? Weren't you—"

"…I don't care about Fontaine. I wish him the worst." That being said, Barsetti strode forth, turning his back to the workers. They muttered to themselves, more accusation and taunting in their tone.

"Geez, ya think ya know a guy…"

"Eh, he's a yup now."

"Ever since he's fuckin' that surgeon. Sorry to see him go…"

Things only got worse as he patrolled Apollo Square. Neither did they improve when he passed the docks through Port Neptune. Nearly all the workers he saw made fun of him, muttered hateful things to each other, or openly calling him out. Deputy Barsetti continued to hold his head high, caring not about whatever comments they made.

It was different when he saw his former comrade, Snub.

He was toying with a pulley strung up over a few large crates, a cigarette bobbing on his lip as he threaded and pulled. Ralph sat watching him for a while. It wasn't until he was finished rigging, about two minutes later, that he took notice of the tall guard. Barsetti remembered how he had bailed him out during the raid, despite the fact that he knew he was working for Fontaine as well; he also remembered the scrap they'd had at the Medical Pavilion, when he'd threatened him and Steinman threw him out. Deep down, he felt terrible. Snub had been one of his only true friends in Rapture prior to his relationship with the surgeon. He was always there for him, like a familiar, always there with advice, encouragement, a cigarette, or a beer. Snub arched his back, grimacing in pain as he stepped down from a small step-ladder. He finally took notice of the patiently waiting Ralph.

"Snub…I—"

With a loud snap, Snub folded the ladder up, hoisting it onto a shoulder. Ice in his stare, he turned, passing through a door to the next dock.

"…Fine," the guard spat, hurrying to get away from the place. "Some birthday present."

Later that evening, Snub slipped into Fontaine's new office in Apollo Square. He knew whatever it was, it wasn't going to be welcome news. The boss sat behind his desk, a long cigar between his teeth. At least, he _thought_ it was the boss. He smiled when his employee entered.

"Ah, Giannino! Glad you showed," he laughed, sitting upright.

"…Um?"

Fontaine held out his arms, presenting himself as he leaned back in his chair. "Whaddaya think a' the new look, eh?"

"…S'okay. You don't look like yourself."

"_That's_ what I wanna hear."

"…Yeah," Snub answered distantly, averting his eyes and removing his cap.

"Take a seat, make yourself at home," Fontaine offered. "You wanna cigar? Got 'em from a man who's got connections in Cuba. You know, on the surface?" He must really have an offer; Snub had rarely ever seen him this accommodating.

"No thanks, boss."

Frank looked a little uneasy, tipping the wooden lid shut. "Fine. Suit yourself."

Snub sighed listlessly. "What can I do for you, boss?"

Fontaine studied his cigar for a very uncomfortable amount of time. It put the worker on edge; and he felt bad enough.

"…It's been a few weeks, hasn't it? Since we've heard from our friend Barsetti," began the gangster.

"…I suppose."

"I'll bet you anything he's _livin'_ with the surgeon, now."

"I wouldn't take that bet."

Fontaine leaned closer. "…So he is, eh?"

Snub looked up. "I-I don't—that don't mean anything."

The boss narrowed his beady eyes, his face still contorted into a sly grin. "You were his best mate, Giannino. You two were inseparable."

"Nothin' lasts forever. Especially friendships."

"How true, Snub," Fontaine agreed with a chuckle, leaning back. He set his cigar on the crystal ashtray, folding his hands behind his head. "Now that we got one or two things established…how would you like to go on a special assignment for me?"

Snub had heard all about the boss's "special assignments". Those who partook in them never ended up in a good place. Ralph was a prime example.

"I'll reward you heavily. You may even get to move out of the Artemis Suites. I know they're the pits, but, Ryan's got the monopoly on the er, posh joints."

"I can handle Artemis. I been in worse places." Snub spoke to the floor, where his eyes rested.

"You could eat more than fish and potatoes, ya know."

"…Steinman said fish is good for the heart."

"You know, Snub, if I didn't know any better…I'd say you were avoidin' this little conversation."

The worker looked up. "…It's because I am, sir. I don't want to do it."

Fontaine rose slowly from his desk. Moving around it in a fluid motion, he stood in front of his employee, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Why you gotta be like this, Giannino? You're a good guy. You work hard, you do what you're told…you don't ask questions. Besides, you haven't even heard what it is yet."

"I can take a guess."

"Alright then, guess."

"It's got something to do with Ralph Barsetti, don't it?"

"Jackpot."

Snub gritted his teeth. "…You want me to kill him, don't you?"

"Nah, nah, not kill him, just teach him a lesson. After that lesson, you're gonna bring him back to the Dean's office," here, he tapped the top of his desk. "I'll take over after that. I just wanna show him what happens to people who double-cross Frank Fontaine. You won't be involved if you don't wanna be."

"No, I don't. Not at all."

Fontaine took a pause, alternating between scratching his chin and placing his hands on his hips. He stared at the floor.

"Can I ask you somethin' personal, Giannino?"

"I don't care."

"What's the one thing you want more than anything in the world, eh? C'mon, there's gotta be somethin'…"

Snub thought, keeping his eyes focused in front of him. A few things came to mind: He wanted Ralph back, alive. A better job. Better housing. One thing came to his mind in particular…he looked up into Fontaine's eyes for the first time that meeting.

"…I want my daughter back."

"She dead or somethin'?"

"Might as well be. She took off with her boyfriend on the surface. It was one of the things that brought me down here. With her gone, I had no one else to take care of. No one else that would take care of me."

The boss nodded, pacing a bit around his desk. When he finally came to a conclusion, he placed his palms on the desktop, staring down at Snub.

"I gotta few people. People who are good at…locatin' and deliverin'…if ya catch my drift. What would you say if I could find your daughter and bring her down here?"

This instantly caught his employee's attention. He sat up further in his chair, gripping the arms.

"…How. How can you do that?"

"I told you…I got ways. I'm Frank Fontaine." He was careful not to divulge his new alias.

"How do I know you'll deliver if I do?"

"My word ain't good enough for ya?"

"Frankly, no. It's a big job findin' missin' people. Why would you be bothered with somethin' like that?"

"True. I don't have to be. I don't wanna be. But…I'm willin' to make an exception in your case, Giannino. I like you."

Snub sat in silence for a very long time.

"…You said all I had to do was bring Barsetti to you?

"Yep."

"And…you said you were gonna teach him a lesson."

"Correct."

"Now answer me this…are you gonna kill him?"

Fontaine smirked, drumming a few fingers on the desktop. "Why's that so important to you?"

"…He's my best friend."

"Hmph, best friend? What's he done for you? Left you for an uppity plastic surgeon? Left you alone in the Artemis? What's he doin' now, eh? Livin' the high life while you're stuck at the docks? I know it's dirty work. I know you live in shitholes. Now, he's a fat bastard, hob-nobbin' with Ryan and his people, livin' the life of Riley. Gee, if those are your friends, I'd hate to see your enemies."

The worker gripped the arms of the chair tighter, his knuckles turning white.

"What's he doin', Giannino? What's he doin'?"

"…I'll do it," whispered Snub.

Fontaine laughed heartily, clapping him on the back. "Thatta boy, Snubsy! I knew I could count on ya!"

"When do you want me to go?"

"Tell ya what; go right now. That's right, get outta here. I'll pay you for a full day if you go right now. Barsetti's a cop now, and I heard he usually works the late shifts on Tuesdays. He should be gettin' off in an hour or two. Get him in an alley or somethin', so no one will see or hear you. I'll send out some of my guys to cover you. They'll help if our loveable Paisan gets a little…rowdy. Get creative; it's your assignment."

"Okay, boss," Snub said flatly, rising from his chair.

"Oh, wait, one more thing." Fontaine pushed an old cigar box towards him across the desk. He then pulled out a vial filled with a vicious red liquid.

"…What the hell is this?"

"You and I both know Barsetti's a big boy. I've seen him take down several of the other big workers. Lord knows what sorta things he's been pumpin' since bein' with Steinman and joinin' the force. He could prove to be a challenge. This should help ya."

Snub reluctantly opened the box. Inside it was a wide syringe already loaded, this one with blue liquid.

"Wait…this is a—"

"Electro Bolt. Don't worry, though. It won't kill…unless you want it to."

"I don't do plasmids, boss."

"How do you expect to do the job, then, tough guy? You just gonna ask Barsetti to come back here and see me? As far as he knows, I'm dead. He 'killed' me," he leaned closer. "How do you expect to see your daughter again if you don't take it?"

The worker cautiously lifted the needle from the box. He examined it for a length.

"You gotta drink this first, then spike a vein with that, or else it won't work." He rose from the chair. "If you don't wanna do it, I'll spike ya. I can understand if you're a little squeamish. I've used needles before."

"I'm not squeamish…" muttered Snub. Regardless, he handed Fontaine the syringe. He popped the cap off the plasmid, looking down into the vial.

"So…how do I control this?"

"You'll just know. It'll be integrated into your genetic code."

Reluctantly, Snub swallowed, lifting the vial to his lips. He chugged the plasmid as if it were a bottle of malt liquor. When he was finished, he grimaced, smacking his lips. "…Tastes like shit."

"Sorry, I didn't know whether you preferred cherry or shit." Fontaine pulled the worker's sleeve up, pricking his median cubital.

The worker's vision immediately blurred. It felt like every fibre in his body was being slowly pulled apart, like husks of corn. He screamed in pain, throwing himself to the floor. Fontaine stood over him.

A sensation similar to his retinas bursting pulsed through his head, and his vision went black…

…

Snub awoke some time later, how long he couldn't quite gage. Beyond his blurred vision, he heard Fontaine's voice.

"Wake up, sleepy-head…" he cooed vilely. Snub could see the abused trousers and heavy boots of his boss. He must not have been out that long if Fontaine was still around. Covering his eyes, he heaved himself into a sitting position, shaking his head.

"Motherfucker…I feel like I just got hit by a train," he slurred. Upon raising his other hand, he noticed something very different. It glowed a dull blue, pulsating with…electricity. Snub studied it closer.

"Courtesy of Fontaine Futuristics. So it ain't from Ryan Industries, but it works just as well."

"Oh my god…" breathed the worker.

"Why don't you try it out downstairs over there? Don't do anything in here or by the water. I don't want ya fryin' anyone."

"Uh, yeah…you got it boss," he said, rising to his feet, using the desk to pull himself up. He meandered to the staircase, still feeling the effects of the plasmid.

"And you got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"_All _of it?"

"Six bags full," grinned Deputy Barsetti. He gestured to the hefty bags of marihuana on the desk.

"And you did it without plasmids?"

"Yep. Don't use 'em. I admit I took the tonic you gave me though. Sure helped."

"…But still! How'd you do it?"

Ralph cracked all of his knuckles simultaneously. "…I done this more times that I care to count. I've dealt with shoot-outs and brawls in drug dens loads of times. Except…this time I'm doin' right."

"Very impressive. We lost two guys tryin' to get at their stash," Chief Sullivan said. "Very impressive."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," replied the officer.

"Cut that out, would ya?" chuckled Sullivan.

"With respect, sir, you're the Chief."

"…Yeah." Sullivan nodded. "You know, you're probably the best officer I got, Barsetti. I really mean that. I'm glad I hired you on. Fontaine _and_ drug busts? Sheesh."

"Thank you, Chief. Is there anything else you want me to do around here?" enquired Barsetti.

"No, no, you've done more than enough to-day. Go home and get some rest. Maybe a drink or two. I'll see you bright and early to-morrow, though. So go easy on those drinks."

"You got it, Chief," grinned Ralph.

"Have a good one, Ralph. And happy birthday! Here," Sullivan handed him a bill. "Buy a drink on me."

"Thanks! You have a nice night yourself, sir."

"And cut out that 'sir' business!" the Chief called out with a laugh.

Stepping down the stairs to the station, Ralph felt proud and confident. Placing his cap on his head, he whistled an unnamed, upbeat tune. He touched his cap to an older woman as he passed her on the street. He cracked the knuckles of both hands simultaneously. "Damn! Do I love this city. I'm gonna have to thank Ryan next time I see him." He turned down an alley, taking a shortcut.

"Hey, Ralph…"

Barsetti halted in his pace. Turning around, he saw Snub appear at the entrance, his left hand tucked into a pocket on his jacket. Ralph averted his eyes, gripping the bill of his cap.

"So…you're talkin' to me now?"

"Um…yeah." A beat. "You uh…you look good, you know, in a uniform," the worker complimented, approaching him.

"Oh, er…thanks."

"…Hides that huge gut of yours," chuckled Snub, prodding the officer.

"Yeah, right? Steinman's got me eatin' vegetarian meals and health stuff now," he replied with a smile.

"He finally noticed?"

"I guess a little bit."

They both looked away for a moment, trying to figure out where to take the conversation next.

"Look, I'm sorry," they both said at the same moment.

"Oh, er, you first Snub."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, go 'head."

The worker took a deep breath. "…I'm sorry, you know, about what I said…and what I did…at the Medical Pavilion a couple weeks back. I just let my jealousy take over. I'd take it all back, if I could."

"Well, I'm sorry too, Snub. I shouldn't have snapped at ya like I did. I said a buncha rotten things. I didn't mean any of it." He placed a hand on Snub's shoulder. "…I'd still like to be your friend, if you're willin' to forgive me."

"Really?" Snub said.

"Yeah, man. You were one of the only guys who would talk to me for the longest time, I guess because word got out that I was a homo. I'm really grateful for that and it took me up until a little while ago to realise it. I feel like a real heel."

Tears slowly began to escape Snub's eyes. Ralph was making it harder and harder to carry out Fontaine's assignment. The deputy reached into one of his pockets, producing a handkerchief, which he handed to his friend.

"No, keep it," Ralph insisted when Snub went to hand it back. "I got a million of 'em. John puts one in every pocket," he smiled, producing two more. "Speaking of which, you uh, find a guy to experiment with?"

"…Actually, yeah. I met up with a guy."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. He's uh, one of those splicers, but he seems okay."

"He ain't crazy?"

"He's a little scatterbrained. And he don't exactly look like Rudolph Valentino, but, he's tolerable. Always wears a tux."

"Well, just be careful. I've messed with a few before, and I don't recommend it."

"…I miss you, Ralph. I miss you always bein' right next door whenever I need ya," Snub admitted. "It's been hard without ya. I'm glad we're friends again. And I'm still sorry all that had to happen."

"…It's okay, Snub. And thanks. I really appreciate it. I'm glad you forgive me. Here, let's shake on it," the deputy said, thrusting out a massive hand. Snub stared at it blankly, remembering what would happen if he took it.

"Well, c'mon. I thought you wanted to bury the hatchet?" furthered Ralph.

"I uh…" Snub had a decision to make, and one to make quickly. "I…I sorta, cut my hand to-day is all. At the docks. Beggin' your pardon, but, I don't want ya to touch it and stuff. I didn't clean it so good."

Ralph chuckled. "C'mon. You and I both know we been hurt worse there. It doesn't bother me."

Snub shrugged listlessly.

"Hey, want me to run down to the Medical Pavilion with ya? I'll get ya in quick, my beau runs a business down there, after all. He's workin' late to-night."

"Nah, it's-it's okay, Ralphie. Thanks though…" Snub trailed off as he looked over Ralph's broad shoulder. Three splicers employed by Fontaine were waiting in the shadows, ready to move in as soon as the officer was crippled.

Barsetti frowned. "You're actin' strange to-night, Snub."

"I am?"

"Yeah. You're not your usual, sarcastic self. I know we've been fightin', but, you're still actin' weird."

"Oh, er…well, I had a long day and I guess I'm just beat." He looked back over at the closest splicer. The man sneered at him, nodding slowly. Snub thought about Fontaine's offer, his assignment…and his daughter. He did want more than anything to be with her again. Barsetti turned around, looking down the alley.

"…What do you keep lookin' at, Snub?"

"Nothin'."

"I don't like this. Somethin's wrong, I know it."

"Nothin's wrong."

"I feel like there's someone watchin' us. Don't you feel—" as soon as he turned back to his shorter friend, he cried out in pain. A burst of static erupted from Snub's hand as he pulled it from his pocket. In one quick motion, he'd released a bolt of electricity at the towering security guard. It surged through his body, stunning him. The other splicers moved in swiftly. One grabbed him around the neck in a sleeper hold, gripping tightly. Two others also employed their Electro Bolt plasmids, shocking him continuously. In moments, he was laid flat in the grimy alley. The other splicers issued Barsetti kicks, punches, or extra bolts where they could. Soon enough, they had him bound and ready to deliver to Fontaine.

"I'm sorry, Ralph. I'm sorry…" Snub repeated, his voice choked by tears. The leader of the gang hefted Barsetti onto his shoulder, utilising the Sports Boost plasmid he'd taken. The battered officer managed to look up weakly at Snub, betrayal and misery in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry…" blathered the worker, covering his face.

"Hey, shut your mouth, you nancy! We still gotta job to do," snapped another splicer as they hurried from the alley. Snub tagged along behind, slowly.

Dr. Steinman opened the door to his apartment. Strange, it was locked. Ralph was usually home by now on Thursdays. He dropped his bag to the floor.

"Ralph? Ralph, are you home, babe?" he called out. No reply.

"Hm. Maybe he stayed a little later to-night. He said he might've had to. He's very proud of his position. I'm proud of him too." The surgeon took off his jacket, hanging it up. "He sure has come a long way. I think I've done an excellent job in reforming and taming him." He washed his hands thoroughly at the kitchen sink.

"He's more comfortable in high-society, and society is really warming up to him as well. He got along very well with both Andrew and Dr. Langford at the last gathering. I didn't think they, of all people, would. Well, I suppose I should get dinner ready. He'll probably be hungry when he gets home. What am I saying? There's no probably about it; he _will_ be hungry," John laughed to himself, gathering the necessary ingredients.

After making the meal, Ralph still hadn't come home yet. He hadn't called either. This was strange; he always called if he was going to be late, even if it was only five minutes. John sat at the table, staring at the empty seat across from him. It felt very odd. He hadn't had a meal alone in months. Ralph was always right at his side, wolfing down the contents of his plate.

"…He must've taken the night shift. He's bigger than most of the other officers. Perhaps they sent him because of this. I wouldn't want to run into _him_ at night if I were a criminal." He continued with his supper, looking up at the door with every sound he heard.

Soon, Steinman was finished eating. Still no Ralph. He started to get worried.

"Then again…why would he do that on his birthday?" A tide of fear engulfed the surgeon. "…Don't fret, John. He's probably just on the night shift. It was a last moment decision for the Chief and he couldn't call. That's probably it," he tried to convince himself. Edgy, he washed his dishes and packed up the leftovers in the icebox. Before heading into his bedroom, he peered out into the hallway. It was completely vacant; he didn't even hear anyone coming up the stairwell or the elevator running. With a sigh, he shut the door, bolted it, and locked it.

"…I sure wish he'd come home."

The surgeon found it very difficult to sleep that night. He tossed and turned, often staring mournfully at the empty space beside him. He stroked the pillow softly.

"I hope this isn't a permanent situation. I miss my bunkmate. We were supposed to have a big night to-night. My big honeybear. He's always so cuddly. He likes to wrap those great arms around me, pull me close, kiss me." He sighed again, tossing and staring at his alarm clock. It was nearing two in the morning. "And I have to be up in four hours." A patch of white caught the corner of his eye. Looking down, he spotted Rufus standing at the foot of the bed. He smiled at the kitty.

"Come up here, Rufus. I've got a spot for you."

Trilling, the cat jumped up, licking his chops. Purring loudly, he snuggled up against the surgeon.

"This is new. You always sleep on Ralphie's side of the bed, don't you?" Steinman stroked the cat at his side. "You miss your daddy, don't you? …I miss _my_ daddy…" He brightened up a little as a new thought entered his mind. "Maybe I'll wake up and he'll be in bed, with those big arms wrapped around me. Oh, but then I'll never want to get up. It's always so hard in the morning when we're snuggled up, warm and safe." He let one of his arms dangle off of the mattress as he stared dreamily at the clock. "Ralph…" Finally, he drifted off to sleep, floating on fond reflections of the last seven months he'd spent with his lover.

The alarm clock rang at exactly six-thirty. Steinman shut it off, yawning as he stretched his arms and blinked sleep from his eyes. Something was missing…

Ralph still wasn't in bed.

Throwing back the sheets, he studied the mattress. There was no outline from his body, no warmth. His pillow wasn't dented either.

Ralph had never come home.

The surgeon felt himself begin to panic. Where would he be? He wouldn't still be at the station, would he? Would he still be out on patrol? It was six-thirty, how long did the night shift run? All of these thoughts raced around in his head as he tried to prepare himself for work. He hoped he'd be able to operate in the coming hours.

Steinman was late to the Medical Pavilion. Petunia greeted him at her desk when he finally arrived.

"Oh! Good morning, Dr. Steinman, sir. You're late, though. That's unlike you."

"I know, Petunia, I know," he said with frustration, wrestling with the key ring as he pulled it from his pocket. The receptionist cocked her head, staring at his back as he unlocked the door to his office. He quickly moved on to the operating theatre.

"Dr. Steinman?"

"Yes, Petunia?"

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, dear, I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. You look terrible. Didn't you get any sleep at all last night?"

"Only three hours or so." He hurried back down the hall as soon as he got the door open. Petunia went after him.

"Dr. Steinman! Wait!" She had to follow him into his office. Shutting the door, she approached him behind his desk. He had lowered into his chair, burying his face into his hands. "Dr. Steinman, please. You're not yourself to-day. Tell me what's wrong, please?"

The surgeon looked up to her with moist eyes. "…Ralph was working yesterday and he never came home."

"Well…maybe he had a night shift? Those can run into the morning. Perhaps he didn't get off until just now."

"But he was scheduled from noon until nine in the evening! And he never even called to tell me if he did! He always calls me, always! Even if he's going to be five minutes late! We've had some…problems…of late. They're very personal, so I can't tell you, but you should know this…I'm afraid for his life."

"…What do you mean?"

Steinman sighed, wiping tears from his eyes. "…All you need to know is that when he lived on the surface, he was in the Mafia. And down here, he worked at the docks."

"…Oh…" the young lady said, averting her eyes. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. They heaved ever so slightly with his sobbing.

"Dr. Steinman…I think you're getting a little overworked. You've been spreading yourself so thin, lately; I don't know what's gotten into you. You've been staying very late here almost every day of the week and I think you've been taking more appointments than you can handle in a day. You didn't sleep well last night and I'm guessing you probably didn't eat anything this morning. You're in no shape to perform surgery to-day. Why don't you take the day off and go home? Just relax and make some phone calls. Someone has to know where he is, someone's bound to have seen him."

"Petunia, I can't take the day off. I've got three appointments to-day."

"Exactly why you should. I think you have a perfectly good excuse. This is a family emergency. Doctor, please. I insist. I'll phone your clients and let them know there's an emergency and you can't make it in to-day. I promise I'll take care of everything. Calm down, sir."

Steinman wiped his eyes on his handkerchief, stuffing it back into his pocket. She took one of his hands, squeezing it gently.

"Please, sir. I insist you take the day off."

He sighed raggedly, patting her hand. "…Alright. Send my clients my sincerest of apologies."

"I will, sir. I'll take care of everything."

The doctor smiled weakly. "Thank you, Petunia. You're such an excellent worker."

"Thank you, sir…and don't worry. You'll find him. He's okay. He's a tough guy."

"I know, Petunia. I know. I just hope you're right."

Immediately after punching out, Steinman went directly to the security station. Luckily, Chief Sullivan was there, talking to an officer working the front desk.

"Chief Sullivan!" the surgeon voiced, approaching him.

"Good mornin', Doc. What brings you here?"

"Chief Sullivan…did you give Ralph the night shift last night?"

"Nope. His shift ended around nine, but, I let him off a little early because he headed a sting that day and got what we needed. He left around eight-ish. How come?"

"…He never got home last night."

Sullivan stared at him hard. "…How do you know?"

The surgeon only then realised how close he was to revealing their relationship…and to the authorities.

"I er…what I mean was, I called him this morning to ask if he still had the er…Tupperware…I used to take him some leftovers in, and he didn't pick up. Everyone at his complex said they hadn't seen him and he wasn't in his apartment."

"…Well, he left here last night. A little before eight."

Steinman blanched. "…I need to sit down." He collapsed into a chair, Sullivan taking his arm tightly.

"Why you so worried, Doc?"

"…He's…He's had some trouble in the past. It might be catching up to him."

"Get him some water, would ya, Ted?" Sullivan said to the man behind the desk. "…Look. I'll get some men out to search for him, okay? We'll cover this entire area and every place between here and his apartment."

"Cover this whole damn city if you have to!" Steinman insisted. "I'll pay you any price."

"But, why are you so worried about him in particular, Doc?" challenged the Chief. "I mean, I know you're friends and all, but—"

Steinman set his mouth in a firm line, staring up into his eyes. "He's my _best_ friend, Sullivan. I know that may sound farfetched to you, but it's the truth. I want to know where he is…I'll pay any price."

Sullivan averted his eyes, adjusting his badge. "…You got it, Doc."

Ralph Barsetti woke up that morning, at least, he assumed it was morning. He was tied tightly to a chair, his head bent uncomfortably forward. Sitting up, his eyes blurred and his head spun. He tasted his own blood.

"…Wha' happened…" he slurred. "W-Wazz goin' on? The fuck am I?"

He heard and felt movement around him. In the next moment, a bright light flashed on, shining directly in his face. Ralph shut his eyes tightly, turning his head.

"Well, well, well…looks who's finally awake. Sleep well?" a familiar voice chuckled. Staring straight ahead, he could make out the faint outline of a figure sitting coolly behind a desk. He rose, cackling vilely as he slid around to the front, leaning against it. The man was clean-shaven, with crew-cut brown hair. He wore the standard attire for working-classmen: a white button-up, thick black suspenders that held dirty, abused woolen trousers up, and heavy work boots. Althought he didn't have a place for the face, he knew the laugh anywhere. But…

"It's good to have ya back, Barsetti. Just like old times."

The big officer stared up at him hard.

"…F-Fontaine?"

"Ah-ah-ah, it's 'Atlas', now. Remember? You 'killed' Fontaine."

"…T-That wasn't you?"

"Nope. Never was. And do you know who worked on me?"

Ralph stared at him.

"…Your precious surgeon."

Barsetti's eyes widened. "No…no! H-How?"

"Easy. 'Mr. Goldstone' just scheduled some routine facial reconstruction. I'm, of course, talkin' about me. My position takes on a variety of aliases. As 'Atlas', I get a new face, a clean record, and a fresh start. Your buddy Ryan'll never be the wiser."

Everything made sense now. Why the man he'd shot looked so different. Why the whole operation was so easy.

"…You look cute in your uniform, Ralphie. But don't worry, I ain't comin' on to ya or nothin'."

"…I've gotta partner, innyway," he mumbled.

"Who woulda thought? Who woulda ever thought big, bad Ralphie-boy, a Chicago mobster, a sailor, veteran of World War II, and a workin'-class dockhand, would've ever ended up like this? Shmoozin' with the rich and famous, bangin' one of the best surgeons in Rapture? Wearin' a security guard's uniform?"

"…I like it…"

"You like it…" echoed Fontaine. He began circling around the bound officer. "This is a sad, sad picture you're paintin', Barsetti. And you had so much potential, too. I gave ya a nice, little assignment, paid ya extra, promised you a reward if you were successful, and ya couldn't do it. I thought you were gonna be a winner, too. I was on your side, kid, I was rootin' for ya! Now lookit ya. You're tied to a chair, battered, bruised…broken. You don't look nearly as tough as you usually do."

"Those are big words comin' from ya, Frank. You didn't do this to me. You been sittin' in your office."

"Wrong. I _did_ do this to you, I admit it. I sent my muscle out. And do you remember who was headin' the team?"

Ralph tried to remember, but couldn't. He winced as a sharp pain surged through one of his temples.

"No? Well, I'll spoil it for you then…" cackled Fontaine. "…Giannino was."

Barsetti looked up, a searching expression on his face. "…N-No."

"He sure was. Boy, was he eager to get back at _you_. You wanna talk to him? He should be here in about…"

On cue, a burly capo threw open the doors, wrestling Snub inside. The smaller worker squirmed and fought, but he couldn't get loose of the brute's grip. He threw Snub to the ground with a chuckle.

"I'll give you girl scouts a few minutes to chat," Fontaine said, settling back in his chair. Snub crawled towards Barsetti pitifully, hot tears streaming down his dirty cheeks.

"Ralph! Ralph, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…I'm sorry…" He buried his face into his friend's lap, weeping bitterly. "He said he wasn't gonna kill you, Ralph. He said—"

"Oh, I kept my promise. I'm not killin' him…"

Both men looked to him.

"…McGee is," Fontaine said, gesturing to his bodyguard. McGee looked appalled.

"…Whatsa matter, Frank? …Ain'tcha man enough?" rasped Ralph.

"Those are pretty ballsy words, comin' from a guy in your position," retorted the gangster.

"…Snub?" Barsetti said, using all of his strength to lift his head.

"Yes, Ralph?"

The big man coughed painfully, spitting blood onto the floorboards. His eyes rolled up towards Snub's. "…Tell…tell Steinman…tell Steinman—I love him. A-And thank him. For me."

Tears blurred Snub's eyes. "Yes! Yes, I-I'll tell him. I'll tell him, Ralph." Fontaine grabbed his shoulder, throwing him away from Barsetti.

"Alright, alright, quit with the waterworks, nancy-boy! Mac…come put this puppy outta his misery." The boss strode back to his desk, taking a seat in his chair.

"…No." The capo stated his answer loud and clear.

"No? Whaddaya mean 'no'?" Fontaine sneered.

"…I-I didn't sign up for this. When you hired me on, you said I was gonna be your bodyguard. I done a good job. I'm not for killin'. It ain't the Lord's way."

"I may be Ryan's arch-enemy, but we agree on one thing…there ain't no 'god'. I thought I knew you better."

"I don't care either way. I'm not harmin' Barsetti! 'Sides…he still has my black shirt."

The bound guard managed a weak smile at McGee.

Frank narrowed his eyes at his bodyguard. "McGee…you've taken plasmids, haven't ya?"

"Um…Electro Bolt, and I was one of the first guys you gave Telekineses to. That Doc, er…Chingchong…or somethin' helped me out when you was first makin' 'em."

"Suchong, eh?" A vile grin found itself on Fontaine's new face. "Just as I thought. McGee…'would you kindly' kill Ralph Barsetti?"

Through some force other than his own, the hefty guard found himself striding towards Ralph's chair.

"No…no! No! What the fuck's goin' on?!"

"I says: Kill Ralph Barsetti, 'would you kindly'?"

"Stop! Stop it, now!" McGee couldn't stop himself from picking up an EVE hypo and injecting its contents into his bloodstream. Both Ralph and Snub were careful to note that he swiveled his chair, making so he couldn't watch. Snub gritted his teeth together.

"If you're gonna kill him, at least watch it, you coward!" he shouted. Fontaine ignored him as McGee approach Ralph.

"WATCH HIM, YOU COWARD! WATCH HIM!"

"Get this ballin' faggot outta here, one of you!" Frank called to two of his splicers. The pair seised Snub before he could reach Fontaine's chair, dragging him out of the office.

"YOU'RE A COWARD, FONTAINE! A GODDAMN, FUCKING COWARD! I HOPE YOU SUFFER, YOU BASTARD, I HOPE YOU SUFFER FOR ALL THIS!"

"McGee? 'Would you kindly' finish this traitor?"

"No…no…no," sobbed the bodyguard. Bringing his electrically-charged hand around, he lifted Ralph's head up by his black hair. "I-I'm sorry, Ralph, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

Ralph thought. He thought about the first day he had met the surgeon, how handsome he thought Steinman was. He thought about his despair when he didn't show up for their first date; how much they enjoyed the other's company on the second; the first meal he'd had at his apartment; their first kiss; their first night sharing a bed; moving-in with him. He thought about John's soft, beautiful brown eyes, his silky hair, the gentle caress of his moustache when they kissed. He thought about how many times he'd been there to comfort him, to cuddle him, to share in his pain and make him feel better.

"I LOVE YOU, JOHN STEINMAN!" Ralph Barsetti was able to scream.

McGee seised his throat…

"…Aye. That be one less obstacle in me way."

"You do that so well, sir," chuckled a thuggish splicer, hefting up the body.

"T'row him inna salt pond inna few days. Keep him inna freezer at the fisheries until I says so. Peachy'll watch 'im."

"You got it…'Atlas'."

McGee fell to his knees, lamenting loudly as he took in what he had just done.


	25. Phase 25

Phase 25-November, 1958

John stared down into his coffee cup listlessly. Petunia watched him. She had spent the last few days with him, coming over on her lunch breaks and after her shifts to comfort him. Andrew Ryan had done the same, spending the last two afternoons visiting his distraught friend. The receptionist touched one of his hands gently.

"Doctor…it's okay."

"No…no, i-it's not okay, Petunia. I know the worst has happened. I can feel it," he mumbled, nudging his glasses up as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Perhaps he's undertaking a drug sting? He _does_ work as a narcotics officer," Ryan suggested. "Perhaps he went out on an assignment by himself?"

"Yeah! What do you think, Doctor?"

A heavy-handed knock sounded on the door. Steinman immediately started, hurrying from his chair. "Oh my god!"

Thrusting it open, his smile immediately dropped. Chief Sullivan and three other officers stood outside.

"Er, Doc? We got some news."

"Did you find him?" Steinman asked, his heart in his throat. Sullivan and the other officers slowly removed their caps.

"…Yes."

The doctor slapped a hand over his mouth.

"…We uh, found him in Port Neptune. His body was dumped in with the crabs near McCracken's. They also vandalised the tank; wrote some pretty nasty, well, shit…it wasn't pretty. He still had his uniform on, so, it's most likely he was nabbed on his way home the night before you came in."

Steinman slowly took his glasses off, slipping them into a pocket on his robe.

"…John…" Petunia said, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"We don't exactly have any evidence as to who did this. We'll keep searchin' around the place for somethin', anything at all."

Steinman, with blank eyes, turned his back to Sullivan and his men.

"I er, know you two were good friends. You probably don't want to hear this, but, we've got his remains down at the morgue. He said he didn't have any family down here, so you can come and claim 'em. I guess _you_ have my deepest condolences, Doc…"

He went only a few paces before falling to his knees. He covered his head with his arms, his sobs muffled by the rug. Petunia went to his side, crouching on the floor next to him.

"John…John, I'm so sorry," she said softly.

Steinman lifted his head, wailing loudly and inarticulately. The young lady threw her arms about him, gripping him in a tight hug, trying for the world to calm him down. He buried his head deep into her chest, weeping uncontrollably. His sobs became shuddering convulsions as the reality of the matter continued to sink in. Ryan slowly got up from the table, moving to a chair closer to his friend.

"Here, I…I'll take him," he said to the receptionist. John looked up to Andrew with red, tear-stained eyes. He threw himself into his lap, nestled his face into his thighs.

"John…John, please. You're better than this. Pull yourself together," he stated, trying to hoist him upright.

"…It might be a while before we get down there, Chief Sullivan, sir," Petunia said.

"Take your time. I've seen this too many times before, I know what's up," he said, placing his cap back on his head. "We'll uh, leave you alone now."

"Thanks for all your help, Chief."

"You're welcome, miss. You Steinman's girl?"

Her face flushed. "Er, no. I work in his office, though."

"Oh. Well, we'll be off, then."

"Thanks again, Chief Sullivan."

He nodded to her, filing out with his men.

Steinman thought about his lost lover. How he'd never see him again…never again spend long nights making love with him, never wake up early mornings to the fact that he had to leave the man's warm embrace for work. J.S. Steinman was alone under the ocean once more.

Ryan had left during the late evening, but Petunia had stayed. She offered to spend the night with Steinman, to keep him company and to make sure he was alright. The surgeon sat on the guest bed; he found it too hard to sleep in his own, knowing that he had no one to share it with. Petunia crept into the room, holding a mug of steaming tea for him. Steinman clutched a pillow to his chest, tears still dripping from his red eyes, down his soft cheeks.

"…John? I-I brought you some tea. Are you thirsty?"

He produced a feeble grunt, his eyes focused stolidly on the door.

"…Do you want it now or shall I put it on the table, here?"

Another grunt.

"…Okay…" she gently put it on the bed-side table. Still no acknowledgement from Steinman. She reached up, nudging a few locks of hair from his forehead, sweeping them back like he usually wore them.

"Doctor…I'm so sorry."

"…I…I didn't even get to say good-bye. I'll-I'll never seem him again."

His eyes squinted shut, his shoulders heaving lightly as be buried his face into the pillow. She tried to find words of comfort for him, but nothing seemed appropriate. He was a strict atheist and didn't strike her as even spiritual. She couldn't offer the possibility that he was in some sort of paradise or that maybe they'd one day meet again.

"Those…those…THUGS, killed him!"

"Sir…" she took a hold of his arm as he broke down. "Sir…I know you may not believe so, but…I think you will see Ralph again one day. I don't really know how, or when, but I think you'll be reunited once more."

"…I wish I could believe that, Petunia…"

She took one of his hands, patting it gingerly. "Well…it's getting late, sir. You've had a very difficult day. I think perhaps you should get to bed. You need your rest. To-morrow, I'll go down to Twilight Fields with you and we'll get everything arranged. We'll give him the honour he deserves. We'll make it beautiful for him."

Wordlessly, he slipped under the covers, pulling them over his shoulder tightly. Petunia stroked his hair a few times, switching off the lamp as she stood.

"Wait! Petunia?"

"Yes?"

"…Would you stay with me?"

"I am, sir. I'm not leaving you alone to-night. I'm going to settle down in the spare room."

"No, I meant…here, in this room."

Her face went a brilliant red." "Sir, I-I—"

"I'm not going to do anything with you! Please?"

"Sir, I-I don't know—"

"Please? I-I haven't slept alone in months. I won't do anything with you."

"Well…" Sighing, she moved around the bed, sliding under the covers, staying on the very edge of the mattress.

"Thank you, Petunia."

"You're welcome, John."

Steinman kept his back to her, pulling the covers tighter. Turning, she stared at him for a length. Mustering up her courage, she reached out and began rubbing his back slowly. He looked over his shoulder weakly.

"…Ralph used to always do that…"

Petunia smiled. "I bet I'm not as good."

He shrugged, settling back down.

"…Don't forget your tea, sir."

"…I won't."


	26. Phase 26

Phase 26-November, 1958

There came a knock at the door. Petunia looked up, Steinman kept his eyes on his mug of tea.

"Here, I'll get it," she said, touching his shoulder as she rose. At the door was a familiar dockworker. He had red, sunken eyes with dark circles underneath. His face looked pale and worn. Slowly, he removed his cap politely as he looked up at the young lady.

"…'Scuse me, Miss. Is Steinman able to receive anyone?"

"I don't know. I'll ask. John? There's a…dockhand…here to see you."

The surgeon looked up painfully, taking notice of the visitor. He closed his eyes, lowering his head once more. "…Come in…"

Snub was a bit taken aback. The last time they had met, Steinman warned him to never come near him or the Medical Pavilion again. The worker shuffled inside as Petunia shut the door.

"Doc? …Are you uh, in the mood to talk?"

John stared down into his tea. It took him a lifetime to finally reply.

"…I'm not in the mood for anything."

"Please, sir…it's about Ralph."

The surgeon looked up, more tears streaming from his eyes. "…What do you mean?"

"I've got some important information for you. I can tell you because after to-night, it won't matter."

"…W-What?"

Snub sat down at the table, next to Steinman. He took one of his hands, stroking it gently. "…Frank Fontaine killed Ralph Barsetti. Well, actually, he was too much of a coward. He had his cronies do it for him. He didn't even watch it, he had his back to them."

"…But wait…Fontaine is dead. Ralph was the one who killed him."

Snub shook his head slowly.

"I know; he let me into his office to say good-bye to him."

"…_I_ didn't even get to say good-bye to him…"

Tears trickled from Snub's eyes. "…He told me something, right before he was murdered. Something he wanted me to tell you."

John looked up slowly, a small glint of hope in his forlorn features. "…He did?"

Snub nodded, a weak smile on his face. "…He told me to tell you that he loves you. And to thank you for all you've done. He said that right before he was killed."

Steinman sniffled, a weak smile manifesting itself on his face. This was the first time he had smiled since before Ralph went missing. Snub moved his chair closer and the two embraced tightly, sobbing into the other's shoulders.

"I miss him, Doc…goddamn, do I miss him!" the worker said.

Steinman merely hugged him tighter.

Later that night, Snub stood in his apartment. All the arrangements had been made: what little money he had had been taken out of his bank account and donated to Ryan Industries in defiance of Fontaine, he'd put in his two-weeks notice at the docks, and he'd either sold, given away, or destroyed all of his material possessions. The only thing that was left was his pistol, which he still kept in his shoulder holster.

"It's all my fault…everything," he said to himself, removing it. "Ralph is dead because of me…Doc Steinman is miserable…Rapture's goin' to hell…" He popped the revolving barrel out. "…There's nothin' down here. Nothin' for nobody." He slipped one bullet into the chamber. "This place is poison. It does more harm than 8good." Snub spun the chamber shut. "…Shoulda never come down here. Ain't no place for me anywhere. Not here…not on the surface." He set the pistol on the bed next to him. Pulling out a slip of paper and a pen, the worker wrote a hasty note on his lap:

For Fontaine-

How's THIS for a two-weeks notice? Sorry about the mess. Hope it don't get on those nice shoes of yours. Thanks for nothing, you motherfucker.

Vincento "Snub" Giannino

When finished, Snub set the note on the mattress, near the edge where it could be seen. Taking the pistol up into his hand, he stood near his bed. He pressed the barrel to one of his temples, which had grown warm from being pressed against his body in the leather holster.

"…Fuck everything." he stated…

…And pulled the trigger.

About an hour or so later, there came a knock on Snub's apartment door. A male voice called out.

"Hey Snub, you in there? You gotta visitor! A dame named Regina; says she's your daughter!"


	27. Phase 27

Phase 27-November, 1958

Despite the air of melancholy, the Twilight Fields Funeral Home looked beautiful. Steinman had received many more flowers than he had ever expected. They were placed or hung all around the parlour, fitted with messages of condolence. Sad, typical funeral parlour music piped through the sound system and Ralph Barsetti's urn stood glinting pridefully at the back of the room. His body was too mangled and decomposed from having been submerged in salt water for an open-casket showing. The surgeon didn't officially claim his remains at the morgue; he didn't want to know what his body had looked like after being finally found. He preferred to remember him as the strong, tall, confident deputy he had seen that morning before work. A very handsome photo of him in his Sunday best stood in a nice frame before the bronzen urn, his jacket held over a shoulder, a charming smile on his face.

Dr. Steinman sat in a chair by the urn, Petunia at his side.

"…Doctor? People are going to be arriving soon. You should greet them."

"…I know it seems cruel to say, but Ralph didn't have that many friends. I-I don't know how many people will come."

"Then again, he _was_ part of the team who killed Frank Fontaine. You also put an obituary in the paper, didn't you?"

"Mm-hm…" Steinman replied weakly. He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands, beginning to weep once more.

"Dr. Steinman, sir, Mr. Ryan's here," Petunia said, taking a hold of his shoulders. He looked up slowly, showing tear-stained eyes. Ryan stepped up into the parlour, sporting a black suit and tie. His fiancée, Diane McClintock, was behind him, also in black, a thin veil over her pretty face. Steinman stood to greet them, still looking a bit lost, forlorn. Ryan let a quick sigh pass through his nose, averting his eyes for a moment. Steinman shook his hand, gripping it tightly.

"…You have my deepest condolences, John. The security force has lost a fine officer, Rapture's lost a fine citizen…you've lost a fine friend."

"…So have you…" the surgeon managed to say, before breaking down once more. Ryan took him into a sterile, masculine hug, allowing his friend to weep into his shoulder, despite the fact that this was one of his nicer suits. After a minute or so, he broke away, even though Steinman wasn't ready. Diane stepped up, tears trickling from her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Doctor…"

They slipped their arms around each other. After another short hug, she and Ryan moved on to pay their final respects to Ralph. Petunia stepped back up, putting an arm around his shoulders.

"…I don't know how I'm going to take six more hours of this…"

"Be strong, Doctor. It's what Ralph would want. He wouldn't want you crying so. He'd want you to spend time with the visitors."

"…I'll do my best, Petunia. For Ralph…" He adjusted his suit-coat, looking towards Ralph's photo, as if asking for an answer, guidance, strength, anything.

As with the amount of flowers that arrived, the amount of mourners who showed up also greatly surprised Steinman, and surpassed his expectations. He could have sworn the entire Rapture Security Force entered the funeral parlour at once. They were all clad in their uniforms and each officer had a black mourning band wrapped around their arms and a swatch on their badges. Each one shook Steinman's hand in turn. He was a bit overwhelmed by the amount of officers that were present and all the wishes of condolences.

He was greatly comforted when he saw the tall, awkward form of Kyle Fitzpatrick enter the parlour, carrying a large, flamboyant arrangement of flowers. Slightly puzzled, he placed them down with the rest, under the guidance of the funeral director. His normally sad features looked even more distraught. Steinman stared up at him as he approached.

"…I'm so sorry, Dr. Steinman!" he said, beginning to cry. The surgeon hugged him tightly, burying his face into Fitzpatrick's chest. He was a few inches taller than Ralph and not as muscular, but he still felt like he was in his lover's arms, causing him to sob harder.

"…T-Thank you for being here, Kyle. Ralph always-always talked highly of you," Steinman said.

"He was so cool, Doctor. He taught me how to stick up for myself."

John reached up, stroking Kyle's cheek. He couldn't help himself. There's was just something about him, his dark hair, his height, and his weak smile, that somehow reminded him of…

"Thank you, Ralph—I mean Kyle!" he corrected himself.

"It's okay, sir. It's a compliment."

"…Sander didn't come?"

"N-No. He said he couldn't bring himself to do it, not after what he did. He didn't think you'd even want him here. He sent those flowers, though. They're very nice. I uh, I helped pick them out."

"…They look lovely, Kyle. Oh! Tiger lilies…Ralph had these tattooed on his chest…"

"I know. That's why we made sure to get some. He said they were his…and hit mother's…favourite."

"No matter how busy he was, he'd always find time to cuddle me, and that was my favourite part of him." Steinman hugged Fitzpatrick closer once more. "…I wish I would have had more time for him."

"Don't say that, Doctor. He loved you very much. He always talked about you."

"…I need to sit down again," the surgeon said, releasing the young pianist and heading slowly back to his chair. Fitzpatrick followed him, making sure he didn't collapse or go into fits. Secretly, he relished being so close to the plastic surgeon. He'd always thought he was handsome.

John Steinman stayed by his chair for the rest of the service. A few workers from the docks Ralph had known stopped by as well; Steinman didn't see Snub, though, his lover's best friend. Kyle Fitzpatrick and Petunia Whitehead sat ever-vigilant on either side of the surgeon. The former kept an arm around him for the duration. Steinman had to admit, he did like it. It was almost like having Ralph back, because of how heavy his arm was and how big his hands were. Strong, pianist's hands with long fingers…

He was shaken out of his stupor when Kyle nudged him. "Hey, look. Silas is here, Doctor."

Steinman got up, meeting the record store owner in the foyer.

"Oh, uh…hey there, Doc," he said.

"Hello, Silas."

"…Well, c'mon, now. Gimme a hug," he said, holding out his arms. "That's right. There's a good boy. Squeeze ol' Cobbsie tight, like ya mean it."

"Thank you for coming, Silas. I didn't know who would show up."

"Eh, the cat was more popular then we thought, eh?"

"Well…I think the entirety of the Rapture Security is here."

"Ah."

"…What've you got with you?"

"Oh." Cobb picked up a record he had set down on a chair. "Um…I brought this over. Ralph, uh…wanted it, but I didn't have any at the time. I just got the shipment in yesterday. Ronnie Allen. I dunno. I guess he was into that whole 'rock 'n roll' thing."

"…He was. He used to call himself a 'greaser' and say that he was really seventeen at heart."

"Yeah. He looked like kids from the surface," chuckled Cobb.

Steinman smiled, hugging the record to his chest.

"How ya doin', Doc? You alright?"

"…As good as I can be, I suppose."

"Well, you need anythin', and I mean anythin' at all, y'all give me a holler, a'right?"

"Sure, Silas. Thank you."

"I'm actually, uh, lookin' at a place over in your neck a' the woods. Over at Hera's Arms. Thinkin' 'bout signin' a six-month."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. I'll be down to-morrow to check it out."

"Oh! It would be nice to have someone I actually could associate with around."

"…You wanna maybe do lunch or somethin' to-morrow? When I'm done? Checkin' it out around ten."

"…Maybe, I-I don't know just yet."

"Well, you lemme know. I'll be around anyway."

"Alright. Thanks."

"Uh, right now, I gotta get back to work, though. Wanted to pay my respects and drop off that record. Letcha know you're on my mind."

"Well, I certainly appreciate it. Thank you so much, Silas."

"You're welcome, Doc. See ya to-morrow?"

"For one reason or another."

"A'right. Take care o' yourself, ya hear?" They embraced once more, Cobb giving him a light peck on the cheek.

Along with Kyle and Petunia, many security officers and two dockhands stayed behind to help load flowers into the bathysphere back to Steinman's apartment when the viewing hours were finished. Once they had gathered everything, the funeral director handed Ralph's photo back to Steinman.

"…I'm sorry for your loss, Doctor. You two must have been very close friends."

"…We were. I've never had a friend quite like him."

"Do you want his ashes or would you like them buried near the Arcadia Tea Garden?"

John hugged the frame tightly to his chest, threatening to crack the glass. "…He always loved the Tea Gardens. I-I was the one who first took him there." His voice quavered. "And we just…"

Tears fell from his already red and swollen eyes. Petunia tried to get an answer out of him.

"Doctor? Does this mean you want to keep them?"

John didn't reply.

"Please, sir. The director needs to know—"

"It's alright, Miss. He can take his time. We're not closing just yet."

As the director moved on into the funeral parlour, another person stepped up into the home. It was Grossman, of all people. Steinman instantly narrowed his eyes, his hands tightening. The sheepish physician stared hard at the surgeon, staying put on the last step until the floor.

"…I er…something happened to your…?"

"He was murdered."

"I see."

"…Why are you here, Grossman?"

"A man can't give condolences to the grieving?"

"Why would you bother? You hated Ralph and me."

"I don't hate you!"

"Ha! The biggest lie of the century."

"I'm deeply offended, Steinman!"

"You?! I'm the one who should be offended! After what you said about me, back in the operating theatre…"

Grossman looked off to the side, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't want you here. Please leave."

"I don't understand why you're still cross with me!"

"You called me a…" Steinman's fists were clenched so tightly, his hands began to tremour. "…I won't say it, but I'll never forget it. Ever. Leave, before I'm forced to take action."

The antagonising doctor stood firmly in place. Kyle Fitzpatrick came out from the parlour, holding the last flower basket to be taken out.

Grossman chuckled vilely. "Hm, is this the new one? Already? I'll admit he _is_ better looking…"

Before Steinman could do anything, Fitzpatrick set his features stolidly. He gripped Grossman by the tall collar of his medical coat.

"Leave Dr. Steinman alone, you plasmid-guzzling freak!" he ordered through gritted teeth. He pushed Grossman away, hovering protectively over the surgeon. In that moment, the plastic surgeon didn't see Kyle Fitzpatrick…he saw Ralph Barsetti, in word, deed…and physical likeness. A thin smile graced his features as he stared up at the young man.

"I'm sick of being man-handled by your whores, Steinman! I try to help…but you just push me away!" He left the parlour in a huff.

"Are you okay, Doctor?"

"…I'm fine, now."

The funeral director returned. "Have you decided yet, Dr. Steinman?"

"…I-I want them in Arcadia. I-It's what Ralph would want. He loved that place; he loved flowers, trees…"

"There's a nice plot open by a flower-box, Doctor. We'll put him to rest there to-morrow."

Steinman nodded, still smiling.

Petunia took his arm. "C'mon, Dr. Steinman. You should go home and get some rest. You've had an emotional week."

Without another word, he let himself be led from the parlour by Petunia and Kyle.

"Um, excuse me, Miss? I know you've been staying with Dr. Steinman, but, I'll spend the night with him to-night," Fitzpatrick offered as they waited for a bathysphere.

"Are you sure, Mr. Fitzpatrick?"

"You can just call me Kyle, and I don't mind. Honest."

"Well…alright. I'll stop by to-morrow, Doctor. Okay?"

He nodded. "…Thanks, Petunia. You've been very helpful."

"You're very welcome, sir." They hugged before he and the pianist boarded the bathysphere.

"You were wonderful, Kyle. Thank you for getting rid of that…that…nevermind."

"…Ralph taught me that," shrugged Fitzpatrick innocently, chuckling lightly. "He taught me how to stick up for myself, and for others."

"And you looked just like him. Strong, powerful…handsome."

"Oh, er…thank you, Dr. Steinman, sir."

Steinman set the photo on the bed-side table, on Ralph's side. Kyle was a bit nervous; he'd never been inside Steinman's apartment, much less his room. He stood in the doorway, wringing his hands.

"…You can come in, Kyle. I don't mind," the doctor said, loosening his tie. Cautiously, the disciple entered. John patted the space on the bed next to him, indicating for the young pianist to sit. Fitzpatrick alighted on the mattress, his hands in his pockets. The surgeon nuzzled into one of his shoulders, heaving a great sigh.

"…This has been the worst week of my life."

"I can imagine, sir." Nervously, he put one arm around him, patting his shoulder awkwardly.

"I'm grateful for your help, Ralph—er, Kyle. You're a wonderful young man."

"Oh, thank you, sir." This wasn't the first time he'd been called Ralph. It wasn't the second, either.

"Please…call me John." He buried his face deeper into Kyle's shoulder. The disciple went a bit rigid. "…You have broad shoulders, just like Ralph."

"Um…um…!"

"Big hands…very big hands…"

Kyle stood up from the bed, hugging his arms.

"Um…i-it's late, John, er, Dr. Steinman. I-I think we should just go to bed."

"You can share my bed with me. I don't mind…" the doctor said, inching towards him on the mattress.

"Er, that's very generous, but, I'll stay in the back room. If you need anything, uh…lemme know?" With that, he hurried out of the surgeon's room.

Fitzpatrick was a bit shaken-up from the whole matter. Even so, he found that all the touches from the plastic surgeon had made him…aroused. While he still thought Steinman was one of the more attractive men he'd seen, he didn't dare make any moves. He'd just lost his partner and he himself was still dedicated to Sander Cohen. He'd even sent him a Jet Postal note saying he was spending the night with Steinman to watch him. He didn't write "keep him company", that would've sounded a little suspicious. It took Kyle a bit longer than it usually did to fall asleep, but soon enough, he drifted off in the cozy spare room.

He was awoken several hours later. His eyes snapped open as he felt a gentle touch. It started at the back of his neck and ran all the way down to his buttocks, making a curve, and ending on his thigh. Fitzpatrick froze as he felt a nuzzle against his neck, and the caress of a soft moustache.

"Why are you sleeping in here, Ralph? My bed's just as good, even better…I'm in it," Steinman's soothing voice spoke to him. He then kissed the pianist's neck. Kyle lurched away, nearly falling off the bed. Scrambling up and to his feet, he clutched his jacket to his chest, over the undershirt he was wearing.

"D-Dr. Steinman? W-What are you doing?"

"How many times must I tell you to call me John?" he said playfully, lounging on the bed, propped up on one elbow.

"Sir, I-I'm not Ralph. I'm Kyle Fitzpatrick. I'm spending the night with you?"

"…Aren't you lonely?"

"No, sir. I uh, I think you should just go back to your own bed. You'll be a lot more comfortable."

Smiling, the surgeon pulled himself to his feet sensually. "Okaaay…but you'll miss me." Luckily, he left without any more incidents. Kyle instantly locked the door. He leaned against it, beginning to hyperventilate. Worst of all, he felt a tension behind the fly of his trousers.

Fitzpatrick took the morning as cautiously as possible. Fully-dressed in his clothes from the previous day, he slipped out of the room. He crept down the hallway, peering into Steinman's room, taking every precaution to not be seen. The room was empty and the bed was made. He slinked down the rest of the hallway, like a criminal trying desperately to evade the police. Kyle saw the surgeon at the stove, his back to him. He lifted something onto a plate, turning towards the table. He started as he discovered Kyle in the hallway.

"Oh! Good morning, Kyle."

"…G-Good morning, sir."

"Did you sleep well?"

"I was…alright. Did you?"

"No, not in the least. I kept waking up." He let out a sigh, offering the plate. "Here…I made you breakfast, for being so kind as to stay with me in my time of need. I hope you like omelettes. I don't really know what you like."

"That's fine, I eat omelettes. Thank you very much." Fitzpatrick lowered into a chair directly across from Steinman. He settled down with a sigh, a mug of coffee in one hand.

"Aren't you eating anything?"

"No, I'm not very hungry. I haven't been."

"Petunia said you haven't been eating very much. I think you should. It would probably make you feel a little better."

"Maybe I'll have a banana, or an orange or something…"

"…Do you wanna share the omelette with me? I'll give you half."

Steinman smiled. "No, thanks, Kyle. I made that for you."

"Well, as long as you're sure." He took his first bite, nodding in approval. "Wow. This is really good! You're a good cook, Doctor."

"Thank you, Kyle." He placed one hand over his on the table…just when the young pianist thought things weren't going to get sensual anymore. He winced, staring at their hands as he continued eating.

After breakfast, he waited until the surgeon had gone into the shower, then he picked up the phone and called Petunia at the office number she'd left for him.

"Surgical Savings, how may I help you?"

"Hello, is this Petunia? This is Kyle Fitzpatrick."

"Oh, hello, Kyle. How's Dr. Steinman doing?"

"Um…that's kinda why I called."

"What's wrong? Is he okay?"

"Well…he's…um…" Kyle knew he was alone, but he looked over his shoulder anyway. "He um…I don't think he's very mentally stable. He keeps thinking I'm Ralph, and I woke up last night to find him cuddled-up in bed with me. He isn't taking this well at all. He might need help."

"Oh, oh my. Er…I knew I should have stayed with him last night. He hasn't done anything like that to me."

"Well, I'm glad it was me and not you. I guess I'm used to it. But…I don't really wanna find out what he might do if I spend another night."

"I will, Kyle. Don't worry about that. My shift is over at six. I'll be over as soon as possible, alright? Let me know if anything else happens."

"Will do. Thanks. Good-bye."

To kill some time, the disciple switched on the television. He had just gotten comfortable, when he heard a knock on the door. He rose, answering it cautiously. Silas Cobb was standing in the hallway.

"Hey! What're you doin' over here, Beanpole?" he asked happily.

"Would you stop calling me that? And I spent the night with Dr. Steinman."

"Oooh," Cobb teased, letting himself inside.

"No! Not that way! I was just keeping him company."

"Riiight! I saw you two at the funeral home yesterday. You all had your arm around him when I came in."

"Well…I was just comforting him in his time of need."

"Mm-hm. That's what they _all_ say." He sat down heavily on the sofa, stretching out his arms. "Where's the good doctor at?"

"He's taking a shower. What are you doing here anyway?"

"Y'all don't sounds so happy to see me. I was just checkin' out an apartment I might be movin' into. And I told him I'd take him ta lunch after."

Just as Kyle had retaken his seat next to the store owner, Steinman appeared in the entrance to the hallway. He was completely naked and dripping wet.

"Ralph? I'm out of soap. Would you be a dear and fetch me some from the closet?"

"Um, um, um…!" Fitzpatrick stammered, inching back on the sofa. He instantly became erect upon seeing the nude doctor, but was still terrified out of his mind. The reaction was the complete opposite with regards to Cobb, who looked completely enticed.

"Nevermind. I'll get it myself!" he laughed airily, moving through the kitchen. Once he had found a bar, he returned to the bathroom, squeezing one of the pianist's shoulders as he passed by.

"Hooo-whee! Didju see that?! Damn…that bird's got one fine pecker," Silas laughed. "I'd be more than happy to give _him_ some seeds…"

Kyle locked himself in the back room; he couldn't wait for six o'clock to hit.

Petunia arrived a little after the hour. She found Steinman sitting on the sofa, casually reading a book.

"Hello, Dr. Steinman."

"…Good evening, Petunia," he sighed in response.

"Where's Kyle?"

Steinman shook his head quickly, shrugging his shoulders. She moved down the hallway, knocking on the door.

"Dr. Steinman, please!" she heard his voice.

"Kyle? It's me, Petunia."

He opened the door, relieved to see her. "Oh, thank god…"

"What's the matter?"

The disciple pulled her inside, shutting the door after her. "Petunia, I-I don't think I can do this anymore. H-He keeps thinking I'm Ralph! He calls me Ralph, and he acts the same if I _were_ him. He keeps tryng to get all sensual with me. And right after I got off the phone with you, he came out of the shower, naked, and asked me, well 'Ralph', if I would get a bar of soap for him."

"Oh my gosh…"

"If you please, Miss, I-I need to get out of here. I-I already have someone and I feel wrong."

"Well, thank you, at least, for sticking it out for a night."

"You're welcome. Good-bye." Fitzpatrick hurried out of the apartment.

"Hm…now where is he going to in such a hurry?" Steinman asked, putting his book down on his lap. Petunia chose a seat next to him, treading carefully.

"Er, Dr. Steinman? Are you…feeling alright?"

"How good can a man feel when he's just had his lover murdered?"

"I understand, sir."

"…I really do miss him, Petunia."

"I know you do, sir."

"…They're putting him to rest at eight o'clock. In Arcadia, by the Tea Garden. I can go and visit him anytime I want to."

"That's nice. I think it's a good choice."

Steinman nodded, wiping a solitary tear from his cheek. Petunia put an arm around him. "Will you go with me? To the gardens?"

"I certainly will, Doctor. I'll spend the night, too if—"

"No, no, none of that. I don't need anyone to babysit me."

"Well, it's not technically 'baby-sitting', sir, I just—"

"I'm a grown man, dear. I can take care of myself. Although it's hard to believe, I did have a life before Ralph. I just wish I didn't have to relive it."

"…And you're sure you don't want me to stay?"

"I'm positive, Petunia. You have your own life. I'll be back to work on Monday."

"Well…as long as you're sure, Doctor. I'm always available if you need me, though. For companionship, I mean. I'm going to run home and make myself look a little more acceptable. I'll meet you at the gardens."

"Okay. Thank you, Ms. Whitehead."

She smiled, taking her leave.

"…Who was that?" Cobb asked, coming out of the bathroom.

"A worker of mine. She's been staying with me."

"Oh." He got comfy again on the sofa, resting his head against one of Steinman's thighs. "I know you turned _her_ away, but…" here Silas sat up. "…If'n y'all wanna bunkmate…I got no plans."

Steinman favoured him with a sideways stare. "It's too soon for me to sleep with another man."

"That's just it. We're only sleepin' together. We ain't gonna do the dirty or nothin'."

"…Well…I do miss having a bunkmate, especially one that's a man." He slid his glasses from his nose, smiling at his new companion. "…I accept."

"I'm glad."

"Oh, I'll have to go get ready soon. They're putting Ralph to rest in the Arcadia Tea Gardens at eight."

"Well, since ya didn't wanna go ta lunch, would ya at least allow me ta walk ya?"

"Stay, if you'd like to. I'll need a sturdy shoulder to cry on."

"I ain't exactly muscular or nothin', but I'll always hold ya, if'n ya need it."

"Thank you very much, Silas. I'm sorry it took us this long to get properly acquainted."

"Likewise. You always been my favourite of Cohen's friends." He closed his eyes, letting his opposite arm dangle off the cushions. His hand slowly stroking one of the surgeon's shins.

Steinman and Cobb met Petunia at the Tea Gardens promptly at six. Chief Sullivan and a few security officers had joined her as well.

"You, er, wanted to come here?" Steinman asked the Chief.

"Yeah, you uh…don't want me?"

"No, no! Please stay. Ralph would've wanted you here."

"I would hope so. With funerals, I uh, usually try to stay until the whole thing's over. Watchin' them put the deceased to rest…it's closure for me," he explained.

The surgeon nodded. He held onto Cobb's arm as he watched the two funeral directors and the two Arcadia maintenance workers load the urn onto a simple device. He stared longingly at the bold headstone lettering until tears blurred his eyes:

Ralph Adriano De'Rege Barsetti

November 1, 1920-November 14, 1958

Deputy Chief of Rapture Security

Cobb couldn't help but chuckle. "I love how he's got this nice, fancy Italian name, but his first name was 'Ralph'."

"…His real name was Raul. He changed it sometime before the war because he didn't like it," corrected Steinman weakly. "I didn't want to put a name he rejected on his headstone."

There was a general murmur of the workers as they secured the urn and it descended into the ground. The surgeon broke down, burying his face into Cobb's shoulder. The disciple wrapped his arms around him. Petunia stepped closer, touching one of his shoulders. She couldn't help shedding a tear herself.

When all was finished, the director approached the despondant surgeon. "Are you satisfied, Dr. Steinman, sir? Has everything been done the way you wanted it?"

"…Yes. Thank you very much, Mr. Fields. You've been very helpful."

"It's my job, Doctor. And I'm very sorry for your loss."

They shook hands, and Fields took his leave. Steinman heaved a great sigh. He perked up, reaching inside his suit-coat.

"I almost forgot…" he said softly. The doctor produced one of the tiger lilies he'd taken from the arrangement Cohen had sent. Squatting down by the foot of the grave, he carefully dropped it in front of the urn.

"Y'all ready to go, Doc?" Silas asked, squatting down beside him.

"Er, no…no. I-I-I'm going to need a moment…to say good-bye."

"Take as long as ya need, Doc. I'll give you two a moment," the disciple answered, rising to his feet. "Here, I'll walk ya out, Miss."

"Thank you, Mr. Cobb." Before Petunia made her exit, she bent down, hugging the surgeon around the neck. "…You'll see him again, sir," she couldn't help but whisper. He didn't offer an answer.

When Silas returned, he found Steinman seated, staring down into the grave.

"You still need a moment, Doc?"

"…No. I'm through. We can leave now." He stood up softly, sniffling. "…Good-bye, Ralph. I-I love you…and I wish I would've met you at the bar that first night. I really do…"

As soon as Steinman got through the door, he began to pick his clothes off. All he wanted to do was sleep. Rubbing sore eyes, he untied his tie, slipping his suit from his shoulders.

"You goin' right to bed, then?"

"Yes, Silas. I'm exhausted."

"Alright. I'll be in in a lil' while." He pulled an ornate silver cigarette case from inside his suit, opening it and choosing one.

"Would you be so kind as to smoke outside, if you are?" the doctor asked.

"Oh, yeah, no problem." Silas made for the door, but Steinman stopped him. "I do have a balcony, you know."

"Good. I was afraid I'd have to go all the way downstairs," chuckled the disciple as he headed down the hall. Steinman watched him through the sliding glass door as he unbuttoned his shirt. Cobb got comfortable in the chair Ralph always sat it, kicking his feet up on the railing. The doctor managed to get a whiff of his cigarette. It smelled…different…than what Ralph always had. Steinman didn't really care either way, as long as it didn't stink up his apartment. He entered the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

John wasn't aware when Silas had come to bed, however, he knew it was some time after he had. He woke up in the middle of the night to…what felt like a touch. Opening his heavy eyes and lifting his head, he discovered the disciple stroking his back. He hovered over him on Ralph's side of the bed, leaning on one elbow for support.

"S-Silas? …What are you doing?"

"Shhh…you're okay. More than okay."

"…Just don't go any further."

"No problem, Doc."

Steinman had to admit, the touch was nice and it reminded him of Ralph. Just as he was drifting off to sleep once more, he felt Cobb's hand stroke the back of his neck. He grunted in disapproval. The hand traveled down his back and over one of his buttocks.

"Silas. Stop."

The record store owner inched a bit closer, nuzzling the back of his neck. His hand slipped under the surgeon's pyjama pants, threatening to slide down his undergarments. Steinman, in a split second, lunged backwards, his heel connecting with Cobb's groin. He heard a gagging sound immediately followed by a heavy swallow and a moan, the disciple stopping himself from vomiting. Silas curled into a ball, clutching at his smarting genitals. The doctor hovered over him, eyes red.

"Get out of my room this instant, or so help me, I'll get my scalpel and I'll _cut_ it off!"

"I wasn't gonna do nothin'…" whimpered Cobb.

"I should've known you had a secret agenda when you asked to be my bedmate!"

"Doc…please—"

"Out!"

"But Doc…you're just so damn hot! I just always had a—a fantasy 'bout you 'n Ralph and—"

"Never. Even if he was alive. Get out of my room, _now_."

"A'right, a'right," moaned the disciple, crawling on his hands and knees as he half-dragged himself out of John's room. Steinman nodded, turning over and pulling the covers over his head.

In the morning, Steinman couldn't believe his eyes when he found Cobb still in his apartment, curled up feebly on the sofa. Grounding his teeth, he raised his foot, bringing his heel down hard on Cobb's hip. Silas shouted, looking up dumbstruck at the other man.

"I can't believe this! The nerve! Why are you still here?!"

"Ya hobbled me, Steinman! How the fuck'd ya expect me ta high-tail-it if'n I can't walk?!"

The doctor ran a hand through his hair, averting his eyes.

"I almost upchucked all over ya! I ain't ever been hit that hard before…"

"Well, I'm not sorry. You were _this _close to violating me." Steinman showed him in the increment using his index finger and thumb. "And upon the death of my lover…in our bed…you're a disgrace, Silas Cobb."

"…I-I know. It wasn't respectful…or smart. I don't always make smart choices when I'm…" he paused, unable to finish his sentence. "…I sure wish you'd forgive me."

"I can't forgive you, Silas. But I'm willing to move past it. For now, I want you out of my apartment."

"Yeah…okay…" The disciple picked himself off the sofa, limping towards Steinman's room.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"To get my stuff?"

"I'll get it. You stay put."

The surgeon returned with the top half of the store owner's suit, throwing it into his lap. Wordlessly, Cobb moved slowly out of the apartment.

Steinman sat down heavily on the sofa, covering his face with his hands. "…And I thought we could be friends. I'm not so sure, now."


	28. Phase 28

Conclusion-January, 1959

The phone rang. Dr. Steinman sauntered over to the table, picking up the receiver.

"…Dr. Steinman speaking…"

"Hello, John? It's Sander."

Steinman narrowed his eyes, even though he knew the artist couldn't see him.

"I'm not sure I want to talk to you."

"I understand."

Both lines were silent for nearly a minute.

"…Ryan told me about your…lover. Ralph."

"And?"

"…Did you get the flowers I sent over to Twilight Fields?"

"I did. They were nice."

"Yes. Kyle helped pick them out. I know he and Ralph…were friends."

"I know. I saw him at the funeral."

"I apologise for not being able to go. I sent him on my behalf—"

"Why did you call, Sander?"

"I only wanted to send my condolences."

"Well, thank you—"

"And to invite you over to my apartment to-night."

"What for?"

"An informal get-together. Hector, Martin, and Silas will be there, as well. Kyle won't, I'm afraid. He said he had a previous engagement."

"…I don't think I'm in the mood for parties, Sander."

"I think it would do you some good. You've been through so much, I think you owe it to yourself to get out for at least a few hours, spend some time with friends, have a few drinks."

"Sander, you invited my lover to your place behind my back and then tried to seduce him."

"It was a mistake, John! You know how envious I can get, especially with regards to beautiful men. I was just jealous that you had such a tall, handsome, muscular Italian."

"You have four men of your own."

"…None of them fit that specific bill."

John was silent once more.

"I apologise, John. And I apologise for calling and taunting you about it. I'm sure he explained, but nothing happened between us. All I did was capture him nude. I could show you my work, if you'd like. He liked them. He even wanted one to give to you as a gift."

Steinman still didn't answer.

"Please, John. You're one of my best friends. It tears my very essence to see you like this. Do say you'll come over? Even if it's just for a little while? Oh, here, maybe this will change your mind—"

Steinman heard Silas Cobb's voice on the other end as the phone was handed off. "Hey, Doc? You still there?"

"…Yes."

"Hey, it's Silas—"

"Now I'm _definitely_ not coming."

"Wait, wait! At least hear me out, a'right? I know what I did that one night was wrong. I take full responsibility for it. I guess it was just watchin' you be so miserable, and…well, it was a combination of things, but…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that in your bed. I'm sorry, Doc. I really am."

"…I don't know if I can accept that, Silas. I don't know how sincere you are."

"…I really want ya to come over. We'll all keep ya company, 'cept for maybe Hector, he might be passed out. And good company. No touchin' or dirty stuff like that."

"You promised that last time."

"…What if I promise on Ralph's grave?"

"How dare you?!"

"No, no! I-I mean it! I swear to Ralph I won't touch ya! If'n I do, Ralph can beat the shit outta me in the netherworld forever."

Steinman went silent.

"He can beat the shit outta me forever in hell if'n I go back on my word to-night." The surgeon remained silent. "Okay. Here's Sander back again."

A heavy sigh came from John's end. "…Fine. I'll come over. But if I want to leave, let me. I'm in no mood to be heckled."

"You won't, dear. I promise. Good. I'm glad. So, I'll see you at, say…eight o'clock?"

"Fine."

"Excellent! You won't be disappointed!"

Steinman hung up the phone, wondering what he meant by that.

It was nearly nine o'clock when Steinman arrived at Cohen's apartment in Olympus Heights. Sander himself even answered the door when he knocked upon it.

"Oh, good! I'm so glad you came, John!" he exclaimed. "I was getting worried."

John shrugged, stepping inside. Silas Cobb and an unidentified man were chatting in the den, and Hector Rodriguez was, of course, at the bar. Martin Finnegan, the appointed watchdog for the evening, sat near him, making sure he didn't kill himself with his alcohol intake. He complained, loudly, about something or other to Martin, who was only paying him about a quarter of his attention. Steinman fully expected the young violinist, Kempinsky, to be present, but he didn't see him. Good. The last thing the surgeon wanted was to look for another partner. Sander held out his arms limply.

"Come now…let's have a hug, eh?"

Reluctantly, Steinman let Cohen receive him. "…These last few months have been so miserable, Sander."

"I know, I know," the artist said, nuzzling him gently. Releasing him, he kissed Steinman on the forehead, chucking his chin. "Don't worry. You'll feel better after to-night, I promise."

"Hey! Ya made it," Silas said, hurrying over. He stopped short, before the surgeon. John glared at him; Silas covered his groin. "…H-How y'all doin', Doc?"

The surgeon shrugged. "One day at a time. It comes and it goes. I'm not sure why, but this last week has been awful."

"Only time," Silas assured.

Cohen held an arm out towards the bar. "Care for a drink?"

"I suppose…"

The artist took his hand, leading the way.

"Still thirsty, eh, Hector?"

"…Drinkin's not my problem…standin' up's _my_ problem…" drawled Rodriguez, lifting his head.

"He can still talk. I'd say he's got about ten more before he passes out," Finnegan shrugged. "He can hold it, that's for sure."

"Has he brought up the 'Turnstile Incident' yet?" Sander enquired.

"Nah, that's usually around beer number thirteen or drink number ten. He's not quite there yet."

"Did you _hear _what happened down at the Kashmir Restaurant on New Year's Eve?!" Cohen gasped, changing the subject.

"Yeah, sounds rough," Finnegan agreed.

"He did it…I know he did…Fffontaine did it," slurred Rodriguez.

"Hector, Fontaine's been dead for about, what, four months? Ralph was actually the one who killed him," answered the artist. "And from what I heard from Ryan, the ruffians responsible did a number on his fiancee's face." He couldn't stifle a chuckle. "No doubt she'll be looking to you for assistance, dear Doctor."

Steinman shrugged. "Sure. I'd be happy to help her."

"Ryan wasn't there though. He had some business to attend to in Hephaestus, I think. Typical. The man never gets out anymore."

Rodriguez leaned heavily against Steinman, using him for support. He reeked of Old Harbinger. "Where's zat guy? Y'know…the one y'always bring aroun'? J'oo leave 'im at ho—" Cohen hurried and clamped a hand over his mouth angrily. He smiled charmingly as he turned back to the others. "You'll have to excuse Hector…he's an idiot. _I thought I told you not to bring him uppp_," he then muttered under his breath

"Wha? Oh…uh, sorry."

"Which reminds me…Howard? Are you out there?"

"Coming!"

A moment later, a young man appeared next to Cohen. He looked to be somewhere in his late twenties, with wire-framed glasses and short reddish-brown hair. He had a drink in his hand and a smile on his face.

"Oh, John? This is Dr. Howard Gottlieb."

"It's sure a pleasure, Dr. Steinman, sir. Your work is incredible!" Gottlieb complimented, his face reddening a bit.

"Oh…thank you," replied the surgeon, shaking his hand.

"Howard here is also a surgeon, though his area of expertise is in corrective eye surgery. He's been well-acclaimed. And…he's also German, like _someone_ we know," Cohen said playfully. "And you know what else? He'ssingle!"

Dr. Gottlieb's face went even redder.

Everything came together after he'd said that. Steinman sneered, narrowing his eyes accusingly. "…I know why you invited me here. You're trying to set me up, aren't you?"

"Pardon?"

"The only reason you invited me is so you could try to set this young man up with me, isn't it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I just think it's a coincidence that you're both in the medical field, German, and in the market—"

"_Cohen_!"

Everyone fell quiet, turning towards the plastic surgeon. He took a deep breath.

"Sander…I understand what you're trying to do…but you're wasting your time and energy. I loved Ralph Barsetti more than any other person in this world. And I'm not about to put him aside like this. Dr. Gottlieb, I apologise, but I'm _not_ in the market nor do I want another lover now. Perhaps ever. Good-night, gentlemen." Steinman tugged on his jacket, turning to leave.

"Er, if I may," Dr. Gottlieb said, approaching him. He touched his shoulder gently. "It was lovely finally meeting you, Dr. Steinman, sir. I do admire you very much."

"Save your breath, amateur," he snapped. The front door shut as Steinman made his exit.

"…Ouch," Silas said, turning toward Gottlieb.

"Well…that didn't go well at all," Cohen commented.

"Hey…y'know what 'southern comfort' is, Doc? Y'all wanna find out?" Cobb enquired, placing an arm around Gottlieb's shoulders and pulling him closer.

Dr. Steinman found solace in work, busying his hands with the stack of dishes that had been slowly accumulating in the sink. It didn't quite take his mind off of Ralph and Sander's scheme, but it kept him busy. Tears dripped silently from his eyes as he scrubbed the dishes, reminding him of how he and Ralph often did them together.

John stepped outside onto the balcony when he had finished. He slumped down into a chair with a groan. Leaning his head in an open palm, he sighed, staring out to the city. The buildings shimmered, their colourful array of neon signs penetrating the darkness of the briny deep. Steinman lolled his head to the left, at the empty chair beside his. He recalled Ralph almost always taking a cigarette after dinner, provided he wasn't sprawled lazily on the sofa or the bed. This was up until he quit. Ralph, for a period, was irritable and nervous after quitting smoking, but he had helped him through it. He'd helped him quit smoking, become a society-man, and a gentleman.

Ralph…

The surgeon sniffled, feeling hot tears arising to his lids. He ground his palms into his eyes with frustration, banishing the thoughts of his late lover. Whenever he thought of him, whenever he saw or heard anything that reminded him of the burly worker, he broke down. He'd given their cat, Rufus, to his receptionist Petunia, stopped making Italian food and watching films about the mob, and he'd shoved his favourite Ink Spots record behind the cabinet in an attempt to forget it ever existed. John guessed he'd probably cried more in the last two months than he had during his entire life.

"I just want this to stop…" he muttered, burying his fingers in his hair. He stared listlessly at his reflection on the small end table. Despite all the ADAM he'd taken in the last few months, he looked older, haggard. Steinman immediately got up from his chair, reentering his apartment. He made a beeline for the bathroom. Opening the medicine cabinet, he pulled out one of the many syringes inside. Loading it professionally, he tilted his head, finding a suitable spot on the underside of his jaw. Satisfied, he gently spiked his flesh, injecting the substance from the syringe. Grunting, he pulled it out, staring intently into the mirror. Nothing. He took a seat on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the floor, patiently waiting for the ADAM to take effect. After about two minutes, he stood, peering back into the mirror. He still looked the same.

"…I'll give it a few more," he concluded. Steinman went back out to the balcony, taking the seat to the left, the one Ralph usually occupied. He leaned back, massaging his temples. He was beginning to feel the head-rush usually experienced from freshly injected ADAM. He'd been taking it routinely once a week since March of the previous year, then every other day since June, then every night for the last three or so months. Sometimes, he'd even take an extra spike in the morning before work. Ralph, as well as a few nurses, always commented on how handsome he looked after beginning his regiment.

His eyes came to rest on a few of the potted plants near the right eave…and caught faint movement downward to the extreme right. The only thing there was the small ceramic statue of the Goddess Aphrodite, but he could have sworn her saw its flowing hair move. Steinman picked it up, studying it closely. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Placing it back down, he saw her hair move once more. John shook his head, rubbing his eyes.

"…I must be seeing things. Perhaps I should just go to bed." Slowly, he rose from the chair, loosening his tie and slinging it over his shoulder as he continued down the hall.

The next day at the Medical Pavilion was like the previous days. He greeted Petunia as best he could, set up his office and the operating theatre, and had two consultations before lunch.

After the second, he sat at his desk, looking through the calendar. Everything seemed to check out, when he saw that he had been double-booked for the eleven o'clock slot near the end of the month. Groaning, he left his office, seeking out Petunia to help reschedule. He found her returning from another branch of the Medical Pavilion.

"Petunia? I need to speak with you."

"What is it, sir?"

"You've double-booked me. Here, on Wednesday. I have two appointments at eleven o'clock."

"Oh! I'm sorry, Dr. Steinman, sir. Here, I'll call them right back and reschedule. I'm sorry again, sir!"

"It's no problem, Petunia. Just be a bit more careful next time—"

The both heard what sounded almost like a whale call lowered quite a few octaves. In the tunnel across from the foyer, they saw one of those guardians in the diving suits that followed the girls around. Steinman sneered. He could have sworn it was staring at him, with it's eerie helmet set with equally uncomfortable lights that warned everyone of it's mood. He hated them and what was worse, this particular one had been hanging around his branch of the Pavilion since the beginning of the month.

"…And I wish these things would GO AWAY!" he hollered at the tunnel, to the monster. He pounded on the tunnel wall with a fist. "GO THE FUCK AWAY!"

"Doctor, please!" Petunia took a hold of his forearm. He rang a hand through his hair, taking a few deep breaths. Tugging his arm from her grip rather roughly, he stalked back into the Aesthetic Ideals. Watching him go, she sighed lightly, turning out towards the tunnel. The little girl had by now taken a hold of her guardian's massive, gloved hand, tugging gently. Looking to her, it shuddered, almost as if heaving a sigh, and lumbered in tow as she skipped along ahead.

Around noon, he sat alone in his office, trying not to think about how Ralph used to always come in to visit around that time. When he had finished, he packed up his lunchbox, slipping it in a drawer, out of the way. When he sat back up, he jumped a foot, blinking his eyes. A ghostly apparition of an elegant, half-nude woman stood near his desk. Steinman gaped, his bloodshot eyes widening. The shimmering figure called out to him.

"Steinman…!"

The surgeon couldn't make up his mind; to run or to answer.

"Steinman," the form called again. "Steinman…I'm here to free you from the tyranny of the commonplace."

"W-What…w-who are you?" he stammered, terrified.

The apparition giggled almost sensually. "I am called Aphrodite, Goddess of all things beautiful. My purpose is to free you from your bonds."

"What do you mean, Goddess?"

"…You are very talented in your craft, Steinman…"

"Thank you!" the surgeon grinned brightly.

"I can see great potential in your work and great accomplishments in your future. If you listen to what I tell you and follow my instructions, you will bring about much praise for your name and for your art!"

"Really? Y-You know how to make me a better surgeon?"

The Goddess nodded.

"I-I promise! I promise! Tell me what I have to do, Goddess! I-I'm at your mercy!"

"…Symmetry, dear Steinman. It's time we did something about _symmetry_…"

Upon her word, the apparition of the Goddess dissolved from his sight.

"…Symmetry…symmetry," repeated the doctor, staring blankly at nothing in particular. "…Symmetry!"

Petunia, crept into his office quietly, trying to make herself as small as possible.

"Dr. Steinman? Ms. McClintock is here for her one o'clock."

He turned towards her. She couldn't recall the last time she had felt more disturbed upon seeing the twisted grin on his face.

"…Tell her I'll be right with her…"


End file.
